


When The Dawn Dawns On You

by fortythousandth



Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Car Sex, Dildos, F/F, Frottage, Gender Dysphoria, Hate Sex, Masturbation, Non-Senshi AU, Packing, Possible Genderqueer Character, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortythousandth/pseuds/fortythousandth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school AU! Michiru is a social outcast artist counting the days down until graduation; Haruka is the star of the basketball team, crossdressing full time, and has everyone believing that she’s male. Oh, and Michiru absolutely cannot stand Haruka--that is, of course, until she discovers the basketball star's secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the pornathon I've been holding over at my Tumblr for the prompts, which I combined, of "high school AU" and "hatesex" (to be fair, just how much hate is involved in the sex is a bit ambiguous). Title is from The Kills' "Pots and Pans." Couple of things: re: the summary, don't be thrown off by Haruka initially being referred to with he/him pronouns; this is not a DMAB Haruka fic.

It hasn't been Kaioh Michiru's day.

Hell, she thinks bitterly, it hasn't been her week, month, year, or even decade, for that matter. At least there are only a few months until graduation. 

Michiru knows the exact number of days left, has been counting since midway through her first year, but she doesn’t think about it often. It’s just too much of a depressing reminder when every single day in between is rife with almost inevitable potential to be soul-crushingly awful.

Mugen is a school for talented teenagers, full of prodigies in fields ranging from academics to arts to athletics. Michiru mastered the game of school long ago, and is always near the top of her class, but her true passion--and what really made her stand out to Mugen’s admission committee--is her artwork. 

(Talent and passion, of course, will only take one so far when one gets caught, at age fifteen, kissing another girl behind the bleachers of the baseball field. And then, instead of denying that the kiss meant anything Like That and spending the next several months prostrating herself at the feet of the most respected girls in school in hopes of forgiveness, Michiru had instead chosen to unapologetically confirm the truth behind all of the rumors. 

And, okay, it’s not as if Michiru has ever really been that great at dealing with people, especially when the average person is just so...boring to a mind like hers. 

And perhaps in the aftermath of the whole incident she’d said some things she shouldn’t have, and maybe it hadn’t been a great idea to make Tsutakawa Misaki cry, but on the other hand, maybe it hadn’t been a great idea for Tsutakawa Misaki and her gang to ignore the fact that all Michiru really wants is to be left alone. 

That was the day that Michiru started her countdown to the end of high school.) 

Regardless of everything else--the sidelong glances, the snickers, the casual shoulder shoves by the shoe cubbies, too subtle to ever be caught--Michiru still has her artwork. She’s never without her sketchbook, and she’s never, even throughout everything, encountered a situation that she couldn’t heal from, at least a little bit, by spending some quality time with her paints and easel. 

But now, ironically, her artwork might just be the means of her very last high school downfall, the squashed rotting cherry on the top of three years of awfulness. 

 

Michiru is a member of Mugen’s art club, mostly because she needs to be in some club or another. If she has to pick, she can’t do much worse than the club that allows her unlimited access to art supplies and gives her an excuse to sit in a corner and sketch for several hours each day in exchange for ostensible extracurricular involvement. 

The problem, of course, is that Michiru is too good at art.

When Oshiro-Sensei, Mugen’s third year Modern Japanese teacher and the advisor to the Yearbook Club, asks to meet with Michiru after school, she has no idea what she’s getting into until she’s sitting in the chair and Sensei is spreading out articles and pictures. He’s excited and making very little sense, but she’s still able to thread together the gist of it: Mugen’s boys’ basketball team has apparently made it to some sort of championship game, and they’re going to do a big spread on it in the yearbook, and Michiru, as the school’s most talented artist, has been chosen to go along to the game and produce some commemorative pieces.

“Excuse me, could you please repeat that?” Michiru says, because she’s pretty sure that Sensei just said he wants her to go to a basketball game and draw pictures of it, and the idea of this lodges in her list of All Time Least Enjoyable Prospective Activities squarely between getting a hand chopped off and having to spend another year in high school. 

Sensei is so pleased by the prospect of what he’s offering that he’s nearly quivering. “Absolutely! Your art is absolutely divine. We would be honored to include it in our yearbook. And I’m sure that you’ll enjoy the basketball game itself! It’s sure to be very exciting.”

Why, she wonders to herself, couldn’t, say, the rugby team have been successful? Or the tennis team? Just...any team except for boys’ basketball. “I can’t,” she says, trying to keep the rising anxiety out of her voice. “I can’t spend all of that time around him--” Michiru shuts her mouth as soon as she realizes what she’s about to say, but it’s too late; Sensei’s caught on, and he’s smiling.

“Ah, is that how it is?” he says, eyebrows raised. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested in one of the gentlemen on the team, would you?”

“No,” Michiru says, resisting the urge to add on “but you would like that, wouldn’t you.” She forces any thoughts of the basketball team’s star player out of her head and takes a second to regain her composure. “Sensei, it’s an honor, but I’m afraid I must decline. Logistically it makes little sense--the game is out of town, you said?”

“Luckily, funding has allowed you access to your room! What do you say now?"

Michiru attempts another method. "I really would love to do it, but I'm currently focusing on getting into a good university, and--"

Sensei stabs his index finger in the air. "Aha, and that's where we come in! Think about it; your work in our yearbook, in its own spread, immortalized forever. What university would fail to be impressed by that?"

"Yes," Michiru says, "I'm sure that numerous college admissions directors would find such an illustration the highlight of my high school career.” 

Oshiro-Sensei clasps his hands together in front of an expression full of unbridled glee. “So we’re in agreement, then!” he chirps, and it takes every ounce of Michiru’s formidable self control to not facepalm right then and there. It occurs to her, with no lack of chagrin, that she hasn't really had a choice in the matter from the start.

"All right, I'll do it," Michiru says, plastering her best obedient smile on her face. 

"Fantastic!" Sensei cries as Michiru rises. "Well be in touch to iron out the final details.” He winks. “Oh, and who knows? This might be the perfect opportunity for you and that lucky boy on the team!"

"Yes, thank you, Sensei," Michiru says through gritted teeth, reminding herself, for at least the seventeenth time today, of the dwindling number of months she has left in this place.

On her way out, she passes by the gymnasium, and against her better judgement, she pauses to look inside, where the basketball team is scrimmaging.

Michiru is by no means a sports expert, but anyone could tell the star player. He radiates confidence, exudes talent, dribbling the ball at the top of the key. Nobody can keep up with him as he slashes, with blinding speed, to the basket and casually drops the layup in. 

Number 3. Carefully tousled blonde hair, visible even from this distance. 

After the score, he accepts congratulations from his teammates as the coach calls a timeout, and jogs over to the sideline. The coach is an intense man, and he’s intensely scribbling on his whiteboard. Everyone’s listening.

Except Number 3. 

He appears to be kilometers away, staring out over the head of the coach. His expression has shifted from focused athlete to humble teammate to, now, something that almost looks wistful, like he’s waiting for something that he’ll never get.

Ridiculous, Michiru thinks to herself, cursing herself for trying to personify...him. He’s probably just thinking about what he’ll have for dinner. 

But that’s also the exact moment that Number 3’s gaze drifts down to the window, and he locks eyes with Michiru.

She freezes. 

He doesn’t look away. Instead, he gives her a small smile, the exact same smile that’s been haunting Michiru for, if she’s being honest with herself, years now.

Number 3, Tenoh Haruka-san, the best player on Mugen’s basketball team, and the source of unmeasurable amounts of Michiru’s frustration.

She pulls herself away without casting another glance over her shoulder, heading home before she gets the bright idea to indulge any more of her whims.

 

Michiru cannot stand Tenoh Haruka. Ever since transferring into Mugen midway through second year (an egregious enough occurrence, but exceptions, apparently, are made for so-called once-in-a-decade athletic talent), he has driven Michiru insane on a nearly daily basis.

For one thing, he's way too damn pretty, with his artfully disheveled hair, flawless golden skin, tall, lean frame, and flashing blue eyes--not that she's attracted to him or anything, it's just...annoying. 

Then there's Tenoh himself, who embodies basically everything that Michiru can't stand about men. He knows he’s good looking, and he strides around the school like he owns the place. He acts like it, too--there’s this swagger to Tenoh, this self-assuredness, like he’s in control of everything. (This, in particular, bothers Michiru.)

And then there’s his personality. Michiru’s pretty sure that there’s not a single girl left at Mugen with whom Tenoh Haruka hasn’t flirted, and he does it in the most obnoxious ways possible: leaning in, softly murmured sweet nothings, leaving packs of starry-eyed fangirls in his wake. Even Michiru, who would theoretically be the one girl in the school that Tenoh would leave alone, has been subject to his advances on occasion, although she always shuts down those particular interactions as coolly and efficiently as possible.

But--and Michiru’s sure she isn’t imagining it--there are certain times, in class or at lunch or at the shoe cubbies, when she feels eyes on her, and looks up to catch Tenoh gazing at her. He turns away quickly, of course, but he always moves slowly enough to make sure that Michiru catches him looking.

She’s taken to watching him, and she can verify that he never does this to anyone else.

His presumption is infuriating; even more so because she has no idea what he’s trying to do. Objectively speaking, Michiru is aware that she’s pretty, but at least at Mugen, she’s a loner, she doesn’t really have friends, and she spends all of her time with her sketchbook. Tenoh could, if he tried, have any other girl in the school. It simply makes no sense that he’d have such a...fascination with her.

And yes, fine, okay, there's the way that Tenoh--and only Tenoh--stirs up such a reaction in Michiru. 

This would, all in all, be extremely confusing to Michiru had she not settled the issue of her sexual orientation years ago. Which she had! She did. Michiru is definitely not interested in Tenoh Haruka. 

He’s just a mystery, something that Michiru will figure out. She’ll do it eventually. After seventeen years of quiet observation and analysis, people don’t surprise Kaioh Michiru any longer, and Tenoh is surely not going to be the exception. 

 

“I heard about Oshiro Sensei’s offer!” Elsa Grey says, sliding into the (always except if Elsa’s there) vacant seat next to Michiru at lunch the next day.

“Ah. News travels fast, I suppose,” Michiru says, taking a particularly vicious bite of food. Elsa, athletic, outgoing, bubbly, and charming, commands enough social capital to hang out with outcasts and kiss pretty much anyone she wants and still come away with her reputation relatively unscathed. She is, all things considered, the closest thing to a friend that Michiru has, and Michiru’s one real link to the popular group. Generally, Michiru isn’t averse to Elsa’s company, but she can tell that her tolerance is going to rapidly wither away if Elsa keeps insisting on this topic of conversations. It’s a bad enough sign that enough people are talking about it for the news to have even reached Elsa. 

“Aw, come on, Michi-chan,” Elsa chirps, the only human being on the planet who can dare to be so familiar without having the fear of all that is sacred and holy shot through her, “it’s not gonna be that bad, right? It’ll probably even be fun!”

"Fun," Michiru repeats, the word sticking to her tongue.

Elsa reaches over, steals a carrot from Michiru’s lunch, and pops it into her mouth. “Yeah, fun!” she says as she chews. “You get to go out of town, and stay in a hotel, and you get to draw, you love drawing! And our team’s pretty good, so they’ll probably win, right? Go Mugen, hey!” 

Elsa goes for a piece of fish, but Michiru bats her hand away. "Elsa-san, you know how I feel about the basketball team."

"Not specifically, no, but I can imagine that you loathe them about as much as you loathe everyone else." Elsa again reaches for some food and again gets rebuffed. 

"Did you misplace your lunch?" Michiru asks pointedly.

"No," Elsa sighs, "yours just looks way better. Okay, but anyway--"

"Excuse me, ladies." 

Michiru can tell just from the timbre of the throat cleared above her exactly who's casting the tall shadow over them, and she fights the urge to groan or grab Elsa and pull her away or something, but Elsa, damn her spirit, responds before Michiru can think of a good escape plan. "Oh, hey, Tenoh-san! We were just talking about the basketball team."

Michiru decides that it probably would be a poor idea to kick Elsa under the table, seeing as she rather desperately needs Elsa as her ally right now, and, steeling herself, she swivels in her chair to face the speaker.

Tenoh Haruka leans on the back of Elsa's chair, putting him in prime position to cast that blue-eyed smirk fully in Michiru’s direction. "Yo, Grey-san." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Kaioh-san.” 

“Tenoh-san,” Michiru says evenly. 

“So.” Tenoh cocks his head in Michiru’s direction, in a way that he most definitely thinks makes him look roguishly charming. “You’re working on the yearbook spread for the basketball team, huh?”

“She is!” Elsa cuts in. “And she’s going to do a good job of it. Aren’t you, Michi-chan?”

Tenoh’s eyebrows shoot up at the cute honorific, and his eyes shine with barely controlled mirth. Michiru, for what it’s worth, deeply regrets not kicking Elsa earlier when she had the chance. “The quality of my work, Elsa-san, is never in doubt,” Michiru says, refusing to look away from Tenoh’s stare. “The question is whether my subjects will live up to my talent.” 

Next to her, Elsa lets out a distressed but resigned squeak. 

Tenoh, though, seems unfazed. "If your artwork is half as beautiful as the artist, it'll be a masterpiece,” he says, and Michiru indulges in a brief albeit rewarding fantasy about wringing his neck, “but I can assure you, Kaioh-san, our team’s performance will more than match your reputation.” 

“Will it?” Michiru says, shifting herself into casual disinterest mode. 

“Absolutely,” Tenoh replies. “I’d love to give you some details about the team so you know what to watch for, if you’d care to hear.” 

“Oh, I care deeply. Please, I’d love to hear more,” Michiru says.

“I can make it quick,” Tenoh says. “At the game, just pay attention to one player.” 

“And who would that be?” Michiru asks, fairly confident that she’s walking into a trap. 

Tenoh flashes white teeth like a predator just caught up to its prey. “Me.” 

Typical, Michiru thinks, torn between rolling her eyes and getting up and leaving to quell Tenoh’s raging arrogance. Instead, she decides to choose the option that will affect Tenoh the most. “Is that so? I’ve heard that Kubo Masahiro-san is having an excellent season.”

Finally, Tenoh appears a bit troubled. “Masahiro-san?” he says incredulously. 

“Yes, Kubo-san.” And now it’s Michiru’s turn for a small, challenging smile. “Are you jealous, Tenoh-san?”

Tenoh dips his head and somehow manages to gaze up at Michiru through his surprisingly long eyelashes, regaining his composure far more quickly than Michiru had anticipated. “Perhaps I am,” he says. “Only because I know you could do much better.”

“Which I’ll believe if I see it at the game,” Michiru replies. Tenoh’s eyes are a deep blue, almost hypnotizing, and she swears she’s not going to be the one to look away first. 

When Tenoh finally pulls back and straightens, Michiru feels a slight thrill of victory. “Well then, Kaioh-san, I’ll just have to make it worth your while,” he says. With a jaunty wave, he winks. “See you.” 

Only when she’s sure he’s gone can Michiru breathe regularly again.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been doing anything differently.

To her credit, Elsa waits until Tenoh is all the way on the other side of the room and completely out of earshot before zeroing in on Michiru. "UM," she says.

"What?" Michiru takes a delicate nibble at a piece of celery, avoiding Elsa's stare.

"What do you mean, 'What?' I'm a human. I have eyes." Elsa leans in even closer and hisses, "Michi-chan, I thought you were only into girls!"

"I am!" Michiru shoots back way too quickly.

"Yeah, okay, then what was that?" Elsa whispers fiercely, gesturing in Tenoh’s direction.

Michiru doesn’t give Elsa the satisfaction of looking over. "It was nothing.” 

“Nothing, huh?” Elsa shifts into a high-pitched voice which she apparently believes to be a valid imitation of Michiru. “‘Oh, Tenoh-san! I’m a beautiful, mysterious artist and I’m going to try to make you mad because apparently I’m in second grade! Are you jealous, Tenoh-san? Now can I kiss you and touch your butt and stuff?” 

“Enough!” Michiru snaps, only her years of training in the social graces keeping her from making an even larger scene. “For the last time, I do not like Tenoh-san. I am not interested in Tenoh-san!”

“Hm,” Elsa says skeptically, “well, okay. So you don’t like him. But he’s nice enough, Michi-chan. Maybe he honestly just wants to teach you about basketball so you’re not totally lost at the game?”

Michiru glares. “I can handle myself, and it’s insulting that he thinks I can’t. And don’t you find it suspicious how he always finds excuses to talk me when he knows that I’m the only girl in the school who isn’t going to fall for his charm? I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but I don’t trust him.”

Elsa’s silent for a moment, tapping her chopsticks together. “Maybe,” she says, “but he sure seems to want to be your friend, at least. Do you think that maybe it’s worth a shot?”

“I don’t need friends,” Michiru says. “I don’t need anything, except to get all of this over with and go to university. All I want is what I’ve wanted from the beginning: to be left alone.”

Elsa exhales. “You know what they say, Michi-chan, no man is an island. Or woman. Somebody famous said that. Or maybe somebody just made it up, but it's not such a bad piece of advice." Elsa gazes across the room. "And I mean, hey, if you have go straight for someone, you could do a lot worse than Tenoh Haruka-san."

Michiru avoids following Elsa's gaze and glances down at her half eaten lunch, not  
particularly hungry anymore. She slides it to her right and sighs. "Would you--"

Gleefully, Elsa snatches the box. "I thought you'd never ask."

 

Later that evening, Michiru gets herself off with her cry muffled in her pillow and her hand working hard and fast between her legs as she thinks about just how much Tenoh Haruka irritates her.

It’s at least the fourth time this week.

 

So Michiru attends the basketball game like the good girl she pretends to be, and plants herself on the bleachers, and opens her sketchbook to a blank page, and tries to focus on anyone but Tenoh.

This quickly proves to be impossible. 

The other team is talented enough, but Mugen is better, and it’s all because of Haruka.

He’s everywhere. 

He darts in between opponents, spinning artfully toward the basket, sending the ball up in a little floater that swishes through the net for the first points of the game. When he makes it, he instantly whirls and scans the bleachers.

Michiru presses herself against the wall, but no, her hunch is right. As soon as his eyes land on her, he points in her direction and flashes that devil-may-care grin. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of smiling back, but she can’t quite stop the blood rushing into her face.

Michiru remembers something Elsa told her once, that the track team has been after Tenoh for ages now, that the coach had practically offered to sell his firstborn or something, but Tenoh turned them down. It makes sense why they would want him, though, to see him on the court.

The thing is, Tenoh is incredibly gorgeous. If he hadn't been Tenoh, and if Michiru hadn't been Michiru, or if they had met in any circumstance except for the hellhole that is high school, Michiru almost certainly would've asked Tenoh to pose for her by now.

But it’s on a fast break that Michiru really sees it.

Tenoh steals the ball from the opponent, pokes it out like it’s nothing, and takes off down the court. Everything is working, so in sync, so in tune. His muscles flex, and the ball bounces beneath his hand, and the wind ruffles his hair, and on his face is the tiniest hint of a smile. 

Running, he seems fully at peace.

There’s this twist Michiru gets in her stomach, the way her heart’s rising up into her throat, as she trails her eyes over his body. She’s fluttery, can feel her heart beat, and Kaioh Michiru, avowed lesbian, would give almost anything if he would just look up at her section of the bleachers again...

Michiru shakes her head hard, shifts in her seat, bites the inside of her cheek until the heat inside of her dies down. She picks up her pencil and starts to sketch.

 

Mugen wins. 

The score is lopsided, and Tenoh, of course, is the star of the game. 

Michiru takes the long way back to the hotel, after treating herself to a cup of tea in a nearby cafe to work on her sketch. She’s pretty sure a nice, long, leisurely stroll in the crisp evening air will help return her to her senses, and by the time she makes it back, she’s feeling considerably more sane, more in control. 

Tenoh Haruka is just a boy she goes to school with. In a few months, she’ll never have to see him again, and this will all be over, and that’s okay, she tells herself, it’s okay, just get through these few months and then everything will be fine.

What is most definitely not fine, however, is what’s awaiting her when she pushes open the door to the hotel. 

She’s met by a crowd of giggling Mugen students in the lobby, high on the team’s victory, trying (and kind of failing) to uphold regular social decorum, and Michiru is just done. She’s not in the mood. There’s no way that she’s going to fight through this crowd and risk the usual stares, bumps, side comments.

Instead, she slips inside the nearest door. 

The hotel gym, she sees, excellent; not only did she manage to pick the most abhorrent (and hopefully the worst smelling) room in the whole hotel, but it’s also lined with wall-to-wall glass windows, making it, all things considered, an extremely poor hiding place. Michiru rolls her eyes (only a few months until graduation) and slips into the locker room.

Where she nearly slams right into none other than Tenoh Haruka. 

His face goes from surprised to terrified, but not before Michiru takes in much more of him than she’d ever admit she wants to see: his hair, messy and damp from the shower, the towel around his waist, the clothes in his hand, a tan bandage securely wrapped around his chest.

All standards of propriety tell her to look away, but Michiru's eyes drift to the bandage. For a brief second she wonders if Tenoh had gotten injured at the game, or has been dealing with a tender muscle, although she can't recall him seeming wounded at any point during the game, and if she hadn’t seen it, Tenoh must be a great actor, and--

Oh.

Oh.

The realization hits Michiru over the head and before she can say anything her gaze drifts down. Everything she sees is just another confirmation: the curve of Tenoh’s waist, the subtle flare of Tenoh's hips. Moving back up Tenoh’s body, there's the slender, lean muscles, the bandage mostly, but, now that Michiru’s really looking, not entirely flattening Tenoh’s breasts, the lack of Adam's apple at the smooth column of Tenoh’s neck…

"Oh," Michiru says, because for once in her life, she is well and truly at a loss for words. 

Tenoh looks about to be sick. "I-I never shower with the team," Tenoh starts, breaking the silence abruptly, voice shaking. "I went in here because I couldn't do it around them in my room, and everyone's celebrating right now, and nobody would think to look for me in the girls locker room, and, and..." The last of Tenoh’s composure shatters, Tenoh’s voice cracking. "Oh god! Nobody knows, okay? You can't tell anyone, Kaioh-san, I don't know what would happen. Please don't tell anyone. Please."

There's a strange ringing in her ears, and Michiru needs to get right the hell out of her for several different reasons, not the least of which being that her heart is about to pound out of her chest and her face is on fire and everything all of a sudden makes so much sense and wow, if she thought she had it bad during the game, she really, really needs to be alone now. "I have to go," she mumbles, edging backwards. 

"Kaioh-san!" Tenoh’s voice is thin, imploring, panicked, but Michiru’s already out, and she lets the door slam shut behind her.

 

Michiru shuts the door to her room and flops down on her bed.

Well. 

For someone who just wants to be left alone and graduate high school without getting into anything, Michiru has definitely gotten herself into something.

On one hand, she’s grateful that she doesn’t have to go through questioning her sexuality all over again.

On the other hand…holy god, Tenoh Haruka is a woman. On top of that, Michiru’s never been as attracted to anyone in her whole life as she is to Tenoh. And now…

On the third hand, because it’s just the kind of situation that requires that many hands, Tenoh is still Tenoh--incorrigible asshole flirt Tenoh Haruka, regardless of gender. 

Before Michiru can get too far into this thought process, a sharp knock sounds at the door. She waits. The knock comes again, then the familiar voice: “Kaioh-san!”

She decides to play it slow and safe. "Who's there?"

She can hear the sigh even through the thick wood of the door. "Who else? It's Tenoh-san." Pause, "Haruka's fine now, I suppose, for you." For you. Damned if Tenoh doesn’t know how to push her buttons. Michiru takes a moment, takes a deep breath. 

"Will you open the door?" Tenoh--Haruka--calls.

Michiru rests her fingertips on the door and allows her mind to click through a vast array of possible outcomes if she does, indeed, allow Haruka inside. She does this as if there is any doubt as to what she’s going to do. 

Haruka’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans. Her hair, despite being damp, still maintains the trademark level of dishevelment. But it’s her face and her eyes that truly tell the story. “Can I come in?” she asks.

Michiru closes the door and the silence stretches out between them, a vast chasm. Finally, Haruka exhales and drags a hand through her hair. “What do you want from me?” she rasps.

“What?” Michiru’s surprised--both by the question itself, and by the fact that Haruka can do that to her hair and still look so good. 

“I don’t know! What do you want? So you know now. What are you planning on doing about it, and how can I stop you?” Tenoh folds her arms across her chest and throws her a guarded look.

“Why do you do it?” Michiru asks.

"Fair enough." Haruka doesn’t need to ask for clarification, but still steps right around the question. “Is it true what they say about you?” she asks instead.

Michiru frowns, and feels the familiar spike of frustration--regardless of her gender, Haruka is still Tenoh Haruka. “What do you mean?” she asks, lacing her voice with just the right amount of sarcasm. “That I’m a third year? That I’m good at art? What do you think, Haruka-san, and why do you think it’s your business to know?”

Haruka's eyes widen a bit. "I guess I--"

"No, look." Michiru can feel herself starting to spiral out of control, but she's not particularly inclined to stop it. "I'll tell you if you tell me just what game you think you're playing." 

Haruka looks utterly puzzled. "What game?" 

Michiru takes a deep breath. “Why you keep talking to me. Why you’ve always been like this. Why you do it?”

Haruka looks genuinely puzzled. “I wanted to get to know you.”

“Right,” Michiru scoffs. “You have so much to gain from that particular arrangement.”

Haruka’s eyebrows knit together. “Who says I want to gain anything from it? Why does it have to be about that?”

“Who doesn’t think about that type of thing?” 

“Me,” Haruka says. “Do you really think that’s what life’s about? What you can gain from the people you’re around?”

“From my perspective, can you really see it being anything else?” Michiru says. 

Haruka pauses. “From your perspective, I can’t say it’s gotten you very far, has it?” 

It’s the first time in the conversation that Haruka’s even come close to an attack, but Michiru jumps on it. “And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that perhaps if you approached things slightly differently, maybe things would be different as well,” Haruka says.

“If I approached things differently,” Michiru repeats. “Yes, please explain to me how to run my life. That’s exactly what I wanted from this conversation.” 

Haruka snaps her head up and looks her right in the eye, and Michiru has to fight back a shiver--not just at the eye contact, but at the fierce glare that Haruka’s picked up out of nowhere. “Why do you always make things so difficult?”

Michiru’s eyebrows shoot up. “I make things difficult?”

“Yes! You do!” Haruka says. “You assume that everyone is out to get you and the second someone reacts to you, you treat it like it’s a personal attack. Have you noticed that?” 

Michiru matches Haruka’s glare. “So what do you suggest? I let my guard down? You should know what could happen in such a circumstance.” 

“What?” Haruka asks. “You’re actually honest with yourself, for once?”

“You, Haruka-san, are one to talk,” she bites back. “You hang around the edges of your crowd and soak up all the admiration you can get your hands on when really, you’re just as much of a liar as I am.”

Michiru instantly knows she’s crossed a line, and Haruka takes one step back as if Michiru’s actually punched her. But then her eyes narrow. “What did I ever do to you?”

“What?” 

“Why do you act like this?” Haruka takes a deep breath. “You aren’t better than everyone else, no matter how hard you might wish you were. So you have money. So you have talent. You’ll get out of here soon enough, is that what you think? Is that why you feel like you can cut everyone down all of the time?” 

Michiru’s crossed her own line into white hot fury, and her eyes narrow. “Tell me more. Go on. Keep telling me why nobody likes me.”

Haruka, unlike any sane person, does it. She actually goes on. “You always put yourself up on this little pedestal, because you think you deserve it. And whenever anyone comes near, you skewer them, and then you wonder why you’re alone? It’s not what you think. It’s not because you’re a lesbian. It’s because you’re nothing but a spoiled princess.” 

Something inside Michiru finally snaps. The next thing she knows, she grabs Haruka, shoves her up against the door, and pours all of her rage into the most vicious, searing kiss she can muster. 

And Haruka must be more of a masochist than Michiru has ever imagined, because she latches on to Michiru and kisses right back. 

Michiru manages to pull herself away, blood rushing in her ears. "You are an incorrigible ass," she hisses.

Haruka grins, dark and dangerous, and it makes more sense than it ever has just how women fall all over themselves at her feet. "Strong words, princess." 

"Shut up," she snarls, fisting her hand in the back of Haruka's hair. Haruka answers with just that smirk. 

It's a challenge.

Michiru is dead set on figuring Tenoh Haruka out.

She yanks Haruka's head down and kisses her again, tongue sliding into her mouth hot and dirty and then Haruka moans, low in her throat, the noise shooting straight down and Michiru needs her right NOW. “Call me princess one more time,” Michiru says. 

“What will you do to me if I do?” Haruka asks. 

And fine, if Haruka wants to play games, Michiru will play games. She yanks at Haruka’s wrist, pushes her backward onto the edge of the bed. “A better question,” she says, “is what you plan on doing to me.”

If Haruka is a challenge, Michiru knows that she, herself, must be one to Haruka as well, and she is a challenge to which Haruka is rising admirably. Haruka grabs Michiru, pulls her onto her lap. Michiru's nowhere near as delicate as she allows people to think, but she's always been slight, and it looked like absolutely nothing for Haruka to lift her, to pull her down for another kiss. Haruka's strong. She's undoubtedly a lot stronger than Michiru, and maybe she should be a bit nervous about this but instead it just sends another solid wave pulsing downward and she shivers. “You,” she breathes. “You have spent the last two years driving me insane. Do you have any idea--”

Haruka cuts her off with another ferocious kiss, their teeth gnashing together, Haruka grabbing at Michiru’s shirt and pulling her closer. “Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, I have an idea.”

Michiru closes the gap between them again and bites down viciously on Haruka’s lower lip--if Haruka’s going to be, for all intents and purposes, on top here, it’s going to be on Michiru’s terms and Haruka needs to know that. 

Needs to work for it.

When Haruka moans, kisses her even more deeply, and rests her hand on the curve of Michiru's hip, right where her shirt and skirt meet, Michiru can't take it anymore. 

Simultaneously, she grabs Haruka's hand and shoves it up her shirt as she grinds herself against Haruka's thigh, unable to hold back a whimper at the sudden friction. "Will you just touch me already?"

Haruka's eyes, darker than Michiru's ever seen them, flash. She cups a breast, strokes her thumb across the nipple, but through the fabric of Michiru's bra it's more torture than anything. “Harder,” she gasps, trying to keep a certain authority in her tone because there is no way that she’s going to give Haruka the satisfaction of thinking that she’ll beg.

“I could do this better if your shirt was off,” Haruka murmurs, and Michiru’s on it in a second, pulling her shirt off and tossing it somewhere, who knows where. And then Haruka’s unclasping Michiru’s bra with an amazing alacrity and dragging her teeth across a nipple. Michiru hisses, tosses her head back. 

Haruka pulls off, glances up. “You look so--”

“Stop,” Michiru says. “There are better things you can do with your mouth right now.”

Haruka smiles, moves her hand down. “Or better things…” 

Michiru practically clenches just at the feeling of Haruka at her thigh. “Do it.”

“Do you want me in--”

“Now,” she gasps, because okay, maybe she’s kind of throwing herself at Haruka, but she needs it, is getting desperate.

Haruka doesn’t tease. With little aplomb, she slips her hand past Michiru’s underwear. 

Haruka glides what feels like two fingers into Michiru with almost staggering ease and it still doesn't feel like enough, still leaves her wanting, because she needs to be full. She's giving herself to Haruka and Haruka better take advantage of it and it's maddening just how good it feels while it's still just shy of being enough.

And then Haruka starts moving. “Oh my god,” Michiru groans before she can stop herself.

“Sounds about right,” Haruka says.

Michiru grits her teeth, manages to force out, "Believe it or not, the world doesn't actually revolve around you--ah!" 

Haruka brushes her thumb across Michiru's clit and Michiru shoots forward on reflex. She doesn't even need to look at Haruka to sense her smirk. "Your world does, right now." 

Michiru spits a curse and grabs onto Haruka, raking her nails across Haruka's back through the thin fabric of her shirt, gratified when Haruka growls in response and starts pumping her fingers even harder. "You don't own me, Tenoh," she manages, even though it's getting harder and harder to put together a complete sentence. 

And Haruka just keeps going. Her fingers are longer than Michiru’s and it’s so different when it’s somebody else doing it, and not you; there’s this unpredictability, the tremble of not-knowing that makes every motion just a bit sweeter, just a bit better, and the truth is, Haruka is good at this, or at least good at knowing what Michiru needs, and Michiru’s struggling to keep anything close to composure.

Michiru’s scrambling for a good grip, digs her nails into Haruka’s shoulder and Haruka jumps. “Fuck. What’re you trying to do?”

“Make sure you feel this tomorrow as much as I’m going to,” Michiru fires back. Haruka grits her teeth and Michiru still, through everything, manages a smile. “What? Too hard for you?”

“No,” Haruka croaks, “do it harder.”

A heady surge hits Michiru at the sound of it. Michiru wants to go harder, wants to go faster, wants to make Haruka feel at least a sliver of the feelings she’s caused in Michiru over these past few years.

But then Haruka slips a third finger into her, and…

Haruka knows. She’s not treating Michiru gently, not giving her space, not acting like she’s untouchable. She’s fucking Michiru, and hard, pounding inside of her with a slick, quick rhythm, no grace, just brute force, her thumb hitting Michiru’s clit with every stroke, her other hand holding Michiru in place so she can’t move, even if she wanted to, tracing her teeth across one of Michiru’s nipples and Michiru knows she’s not going to be able to hold out. She can already feel the tension mounting inside of her, the heat settling low in her abdomen, can feel herself clenching around Haruka’s fingers, and she can’t do anything else anymore, all she can do is grab onto Haruka. She grabs onto Haruka and digs in and closes her eyes and clenches her teeth and waits, trembling, the inevitable bearing down on her. 

And then Haruka moves her mouth up, licking a trail up Michiru’s neck to her ear, grabbing at her head to pull her down so Michiru gets the full effect of that husky whisper, “Did you ever think you’d do this?” 

Michiru bites down on her lip so roughly she tastes a bit of blood. “Haruka…”

Haruka swallows hard; Michiru feels it, pressed close up to her. “I never thought I’d hear you say my name.” 

Michiru barely holds back a moan. “You never gave me a good enough reason.”

Haruka takes a deep breath. “I want to watch you come,” she mumbles, all at once, the words coming out in a jumble. 

And Michiru realizes, with just that one simple sentence, that Haruka, with all of her bravado, even with her hand moving like that, is legitimately nervous, even with three fingers buried deep inside Michiru and her mouth all over Michiru’s body, Haruka’s still tentative--still thinks that Michiru’s going to turn back, somehow? Still has no idea that Michiru’s right on the verge of coming, quite spectacularly and quite literally all over Haruka? 

Haruka knows what Michiru needs, but, Michiru realizes, even though she’s riding Haruka’s fingers, even though Haruka’s the one whispering in her ear, that she’s still in complete and utter control of the situation.

This is what finally sends her over the edge.

Michiru comes with a wordless cry, body contracting, shuddering hard around Haruka’s fingers and bucking her hips and clinging onto her for dear life as the waves slam into her, one after another, over, and over, pulses of sensation that leave her almost lightheaded, a fuzzy ringing in her ears.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that, holding onto Haruka, trying to regain her composure, but her normal steely demeanor is shattered, has gone all frayed at the edges, and it’s, at least for now, a lost cause.

Besides, she thinks to herself, there are other pressing matters to attend to. 

Because yes, okay, that was good, and she’s still feeling it, still getting hit by the last few aftershocks, the cloud of arousal lingering around her, and the one thing she wants to do more than anything else she absolutely needs to pay Haruka back. She can't wait to have Haruka on the bed, can’t wait to make her come apart. 

“That seemed really good,” Haruka says, her voice sounding like it’s coming from a distance, and Michiru forces her eyes open. Haruka’s flushed, her pupils nearly blown, and she’s actually a bit breathless.

Michiru tries in vain to slow down her racing heart and pushes her hair back. "How would you know?” she says, only a slight tremor in her voice. “How many girls have you done that to?"

"A few," Haruka murmurs.

"Okay," Michiru says, fighting past the irrational wave of jealousy--of course Haruka’s been with other girls; as one of the most popular, well, boys in school, it comes with the territory, there's a reputation to uphold.

But a thought occurs to her as she pulls herself upright, swings a leg over Haruka's hip, grabs onto the hem of Haruka's t-shirt. "What did you say when they wanted to do this?" she breathes.

With the touch, Haruka goes rigid, and she clears her throat. All of a sudden, the person she was just moments ago--the person with the dirty murmurings, fucking Michiru like her life depended on it--vanishes, and Haruka looks uncertain. "I wouldn't let them," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

Michiru pauses, heartbeat still loud in her ears. "Ever?"

Haruka averts her eyes. “I…” 

And Michiru, all of a sudden, feels like the most powerful being on the planet in this split second, to have been given the opportunity she has, right here, right now. 

Instinctively, she senses that she’s going to have to start off relatively slow here with Haruka, to ease her into it, and it’s okay. It doesn’t matter where Haruka’s been; all that matters is that she’s here, right now, with Michiru, and it’s Michiru who’s going to get to do this, and the thought has her wet all over again, tugging at Haruka’s shirt. “Did you ever want to?” she asks.

“I...don’t know.” 

Michiru half laughs, brushes some golden strands back from Haruka’s forehead, kisses her cheek, her jawline, allows her hand to slip beneath the soft fabric of Haruka’s shirt and caress her firm stomach. Haruka’s muscles twitch beneath Michiru’s palm and she gasps as Michiru traces small patterns on her skin. Goosebumps spring up on Haruka's arms as Michiru leans in and whispers, right in Haruka’s ear, “Do you want to now?”  
Haruka’s fingers flutter around Michiru’s biceps and for a moment Michiru thinks she’s about to be pushed away, but instead Haruka grabs on, exhales, slow, shuddering, allows her eyes to flicker closed. “Keep going.” 

“Okay.” Michiru gives her what she intends to be a reassuring smile, although she’s not sure how much of the original intent gets through, as her next move is to lift Haruka’s shirt. “Off?” 

Haruka blinks at her. “Do you have to?” 

Michiru gazes at her. “I guess not,” she says, sliding her hand up Haruka’s stomach to her chest--

\--where Haruka actually does grab her hand. “Stop,” she says, way more urgently than Michiru thinks the situation warrants. 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine. Just...don’t...can you not…” Haruka looks away and bites her lip. Michiru’s fingertips barely graze the bandage around Haruka’s chest and--

Oh.

“Okay,” Michiru says, nodding, trying to get her head around it. “Okay. I see.”

“Do you?” Haruka murmurs, looking back over at her, up through her eyelashes again. 

Michiru never realized just how vulnerable Tenoh Haruka is. She never realized, either, just how big of a secret it is that she--that the two of them, now--hold. “No,” she admits. “Maybe not entirely. But I do know that I want…” She moves her hand back down. Haruka, she imagines, deserves her playing it forward. She gently eases Haruka back so she’s laying down, kisses her gently, softly, grazes her lips against Haruka’s neck. 

“Okay,” Haruka whispers. 

Michiru smiles at her. “I think I like you a lot better this way.”

“What, terrified? Completely at your mercy?” Haruka dares to flick her eyes back to Michiru’s, but there’s a spark of life there.

“Not being an incorrigible ass,” Michiru says instead, and dips her head to press a soft kiss just below Haruka’s navel. 

“Ah!” Haruka jumps at the sensation, such a ridiculously overblown reaction that Michiru can’t help but grin. 

She lathes her tongue across Haruka's hipbone. "Sensitive?" 

Haruka's abs clench and all she can manage is a small whine. 

Michiru moves her fingers up to undo the button of Haruka’s jeans, pull the zipper down. “Lift your hips,” she says, and tugs off Haruka’s jeans, and underwear, and wastes no time. “Of course I thought about doing this with you,” she says, tracing a finger up Haruka’s wetness. “You have no idea how often I thought about it. I used to…” And okay, maybe she sees where that shyness Haruka has is coming from because it’s surprisingly hard to get the words out, but she steels herself. “That wasn’t the first time you’ve made me come,” she murmurs, “not by a long shot.”

Haruka’s hips twitch and she gasps, “You--”

“I figure it’s time I repay the favor?” Michiru says. And she’s not particularly an expert at this, but judging by the way Haruka’s writhing beneath her and whimpering, she’s pretty sure that she’s not going to be able to mess this up.

Haruka all but shouts when Michiru’s tongue first hits her. “You know,” Michiru says, “we aren’t the only people in this hotel?” She’s only half serious. She honestly does not care how loud Haruka is; she’s actually pretty stoked that Haruka’s reacting like this, all things considered.

Haruka exhales. “Okay, yeah, sorry,” she chokes out.

Any lowering of her volume with the next touch is negligible, but Michiru’s not going to stop again. Haruka’s just so wet, and slick, and she’s making these little breathy noises and it seems like hardly any time has passed at all before Haruka’s coming, Michiru grabbing onto her thigh to stay anchored as she bucks her hips, hard, shaking.

Haruka’s breathing hard, coming down, hands over her eyes, and it’ s a mix of adorable and amazing, that Michiru just did that, she she settles herself, stretches out next to Haruka, swipes at her face with the sheet and on a whim kisses her. Haruka doesn’t seem to mind, meeting her with a gasp and a shudder, and it’s fairly clear that Haruka’s all but completely wiped out at this point.

She cracks an eye open and glances over at Michiru. “That…”

The look on her face is like nothing Michiru’s ever seen directed at her before. It’s open, and welcoming, and shining, and Michiru…

She can’t take it.

Michiru sits up. “You should leave,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. 

“What?” Haruka’s incredulous, pulls herself upright, but Michiru’s already up, around the room, picking up articles of clothing. 

“You need to go,” she says, fighting the rising panic inside of her. This? She’s not supposed to have this. She hasn’t done anything to get this, and she can’t have Haruka looking at her like she’s that important. That’s not what she wants. It’s not how it’s supposed to be and yeah, maybe it was worth it, to get the ridiculous lust out, but now it’s out, now it’s over, and now she can move on with her life, and Haruka can move on with her life, and she can just focus on graduating, leaving, like she’s supposed to. 

Haruka keeps casting glances at Michiru as she steps back into her clothing. “So you’re really just going to kick me out after that?” she asks, voice low. 

Michiru pulls her shirt back over her head. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” she says, angling Haruka toward the door, and damned if she can’t meet Haruka’s eyes. “I promise I won’t say anything. But you can’t stay here.”

Haruka blinks at her. “Are you panicking?”

“No!” Michiru snaps, angry at Haruka for seeing through her, angry at herself for letting it happen.

“Okay,” Haruka says hesitantly. She pauses. “When I asked you earlier tonight if the rumors were true. I just wanted to know because I thought maybe, you might be the only person at this school who could maybe...understand my situation.” With that, she slips out the door.

As soon as she’s gone, Michiru feels a pang of regret. She thinks she should maybe fight it.

But should she? 

She’s spent the last three years of her life fighting everything. And Haruka...has a point. Where, exactly, has it gotten her? 

Michiru pushes the door open. “Wait!” she calls to Haruka, who stops dead in her tracks at Michiru’s voice.

“What?” Haruka asks.

Michiru takes a deep breath. “I just want you to know that...I’m sorry for what I said.”

“What part?”

Michiru winces internally at the fact that this is a valid response for Haruka to have. “Whatever hurt you the most. I’m sorry.” 

Haruka allows her a soft smile. “Have you ever apologized to anyone in your life before?”

“Yes,” Michiru says, although, in the few seconds she takes to wrack her brain, she can’t particularly think of an occasion. “At the very least, I just apologized to you.”

“Fair enough,” Haruka says. Then she pauses. "Michiru."

The familiarity is maddeningly presumptuous, and Michiru should probably be annoyed. But the way Haruka says it--it’s like she's savoring every syllable, like Michiru’s name is a delicious candy melting on Haruka’s tongue, and Michiru can’t stop the secret dark shiver that races to her core. "Yes?”

"So. Is this actually goodnight then?"

Michiru allows her a half smile. "Goodnight, Haruka."

Back inside her room, Michiru’s halfway back to her sketchbook before she reconsiders. She rises, pads over to the door, and flips the lock over so the door stays cracked open.

Just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think there would be a continuation to this, but it turns out I really like this universe! And there will probably at least be a part three, ahh. Anyway, please heed the tags, and enjoy!

Michiru earns high marks in science. She knows intellectually that she’s merely a victim of chemistry, her own traitor endocrine system drugging her on adrenaline and dopamine and oxytocin.

But she never thought it would be like _this_.

To be fair, Michiru had planned on falling in love someday, at some point; had even figured it inevitable, especially as she grew older and began to notice people. That’s the pattern, how it’s supposed to go: you find someone attractive, you start spending time with them, you fall in love, and that’s that.

It had all seemed rote, almost procedural, in her head. Michiru had figured that when the time came for her, she’d be able to do with love exactly what she does for nearly every other emotion in her life: distance it from her body and go about analyzing it. She’d probe and dissect it, examine it from all possible views, turn it around and poke it, and file it safely away, only to be bought out when absolutely necessary.

Michiru’s quickly learning that love isn’t the sort of emotion from which one can step back. You can’t just think _Yes, this is it, I’m in love._ It comes on suddenly. It blindsides you, wraps you up in a fuzzy blanket to make you constantly dreamy and drowsy, slips a rose-colored haze over your eyes, makes you smile for no reason in particular.

The other day, Michiru got a C on a math test, and it’s all because of the stupid beauty of the back of Tenoh Haruka’s disheveled blonde head.

Michiru’s not sure exactly when this became her normal. Somehow, all of a sudden, she, Kaioh Michiru, loner artist, always on the sidelines, just trying to keep her head down and graduate, she, Michiru, has somehow become one of Those Girls that she’s spent the last, oh, almost eighteen years of her life abhorring and sideeying and silently judging with a nonstop scathing inner monologue running through her head with every moment spent at school.

She’s become the kind of person who passes the time in class staring at someone’s back, and the type who gets irrationally jealous over the flirtations of someone to whom she has no particular claim whatsoever, and somehow she’s become the type of girl who loses her virginity by means of a one night stand in a hotel room with the most popular boy in school. Nothing strange about that at all.

_Except…_

Except that Tenoh Haruka, basketball star and most popular boy in school, is actually a woman, or, well, maybe not particularly a woman, that’s not a discussion Michiru’s gotten to have yet, but at any rate Michiru may have spent the last two years with a ridiculous hatecrush on Haruka, and now, as far as Michiru knows, she’s the only one in the whole city who knows about Haruka’s assigned gender besides probably Haruka’s parents, whomever and wherever they might be.

Except for the fact that Michiru quite literally cannot get Haruka off her mind, and she’s spent the past several days reliving the evening in the hotel room, and pretty much every time Haruka even glances in her general direction leaves her hoping, practically _yearning_ , for Haruka to just come over or say something or just act like something happened.

And the fact that the word ‘love’ is even an afterthought, much less a constant presence, in Michiru’s mind whenever she thinks of Haruka is certainly alarming enough.

She’s fairly confident that this, too, shall pass.

It’s just that if she’s being entirely honest with herself, she really doesn’t want it to.

* * *

 

It’s several days later before there’s another development.

During math, when the class has been given several minutes to work independently on finding the answer to a particularly challenging calculus problem, Haruka gets up to sharpen her pencil. However, she takes an absurdly roundabout way, the route past the window, the path that takes her right past Michiru’s back row back corner aisle seat.

Haruka’s smooth, there’s that. She doesn’t break her stride or glance down or do anything to give herself away, but one moment Haruka’s walking by and the next moment there’s a tiny folded piece of paper deposited on the corner of Michiru’s desk.

Michiru can be smooth, too; she takes a second to make sure that the eyes of all of Haruka’s fangirls have continued trailing after their idol, double-checks that Sensei’s gaze is elsewhere, then plucks to note up and nimbly unfolds it beneath the shield of her desk.

Haruka’s handwriting is small and cramped, but crisper than Michiru would have expected: _Where do you feel the calmest? Need to talk to you away from school. Meet me by the baseball field at the end of the day._

She’s left it unsigned, which is most likely for the best. She also, notably, hasn’t included any particular method for Michiru to decline. The presumption is maddening; Michiru hates the idea that she’s somehow become predictable. But Haruka’s assumptions, anyway, are right: there’s no force on Earth that could keep Michiru away from the baseball field after school.

* * *

 

Michiru finds herself rushing through her chores at the end of the day. It’s her turn to sweep the classroom, a job she normally finds surprisingly rewarding--something about cleaning away all of the debris on the floor parallels quite nicely with the satisfaction she gets from filling a canvas with paint. But unsurprisingly, all of the methodical calm sweeping in the world can’t come close to matching her excitement, and she may or may not leave a few corners undone, may or may sweep a few rather considerable piles into the hallway for the person in charge of that task to handle.

Despite all of the corners cut, though, Haruka beats her to the field.

Mugen’s uniform is a fashion disaster on most people, but maroon really is a good color on Haruka, and she’s probably the only person in the world who can make plaid pants look passable. There’s a slight breeze, but it’s only serving to gently tousle Haruka’s hair, making her look even more attractive, which is something Michiru doesn’t particularly need. She also doesn’t particularly need her heart to skip a beat the second that Haruka’s dark blue eyes land on her, but it happens anyway.

“Michiru,” Haruka says, and Michiru can swear that Haruka looks just a tiny bit devilish as she leaves off an honorific. “You got my note.”

“Yes, Haruka,” Michiru says, purposefully matching her, “I did. I’m surprised you took the risk in class.”

“Worth it,” Haruka says, looking way too sincere. “So. Have you been feeling well? I noticed your ranking in our math class fell.”

Michiru bristles. “Ill-advised topic of conversation, Haruka,” she says, keeping her voice as even as possible so she doesn’t do anything equally as ill-advised, like smacking Haruka over the head or yelling at her or throwing herself at her. Maybe to Haruka, that evening wasn’t much of anything--for someone like Haruka, who could easily have any girl in the school, Michiru has the nagging doubt that she herself probably wasn’t anything close to Haruka’s ideal. But it still happened, and it still meant a hell of a lot to Michiru, and she half wonders if Haruka is really that dense or if she’s just insensitive and they’re going to spend the rest of the school year dancing around the egregious elephant in the room.

Regardless, Haruka still appears unfazed. “Point taken. What did you think about my note?”

“It was very poetic,” Michiru replies.

“But did you actually think about it? Is there a place you go whenever you need to feel calm?” Suddenly, Haruka’s whole demeanor shifts; the normally charming person in front of Michiru is replaced by a tense, guarded figure. “I really do need to talk to you. And I can’t do it, you know, here.”

Judging by the cryptic language and Haruka’s haunted eyes, Michiru’s pretty sure about where this is going. “Ah,” she says. Her answer is readily available; for her, it can be nothing else. “Well, I’ve always particularly loved the sea.”

“The sea?” Haruka’s eyes soften. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Your hair,” she says. “It’s always reminded me of the ocean on a clear day.”

Michiru makes a small exasperated noise and ducks her head, trying to avoid letting Haruka see the quirking of the corner of her mouth she can’t quite force down.

Haruka nudges her. “Are you smiling?”

“No. Stop teasing!”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Flirt,” Michiru says. “You think that’s going to work on me?”

Haruka grins, raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t it before?”

Michiru hesitates. It’s the first time either of them has bought up what happened before, or even acknowledged that something happened at all, and a surge—just adrenaline, she reminds herself, get a grip, it’s just a hormone—rushes through her system. But before Michiru says anything, or rather, _incriminates_ herself, really, Haruka clears her throat. “So the sea,” she says. “Would you like to go? With me?” She tacks on the last two words, but it doesn’t stop the warmth in Michiru’s chest from blooming anyway, like she might actually be going on sort of a date with Haruka, and that’s pretty much what she’s been wanting, right?

That and a couple other things, a pesky inner voice reminds her, and Michiru has to act fast to peel her mind out of the gutter. “All right, the sea,” she says, and can’t resist parrying. “I know a quiet spot, by a cliff. It’s very secluded.”

Haruka raises her eyebrows. “Excellent,” she says. “I’ll drive.”

They cut through the baseball field to the parking lot of an office building near the school, where Haruka says she’s left her car. As they walk, Michiru can’t resist.  “How old are you?” she asks, because she can definitely recall seeing Haruka with a car well before this--yet another thing school staff is apparently willing to overlook.

Haruka shrugs, shoots her a playful smirk. “Same age as you, third year in high school.” When Michiru barely blinks, Haruka sighs. “Eighteen at the end of the month.” Michiru doesn’t know a lot about cars, but as they approach Haruka’s—gray, shiny, obviously well cared-for—she has an intuitive sense that this is a very nice vehicle.

Michiru nods. “Eighteen at the end of the month. So how does a seventeen year old go about acquiring a car?”

Haruka raises her eyebrows, rests her hand on the hood. “Do you really want to know how I got this car?”

“You obviously want to tell me,” Michiru replies.

Haruka grins, leans in a bit, pitches her voice down. “I race,” she says. “Cars, mostly, they’re my favorite, but sometimes bikes, basically anything with wheels. If you’re good enough, if you’re smart enough to keep your head down and shut up, people won’t ask the questions you don’t want to answer. Anyway, there’s this spot under the bridge on weekends. It gets pretty high stakes. And I’m good.”

“That sounds highly illegal.” And moronic, and dangerous, Michiru adds in her mind. But she forces it down, because technically, as she reminds herself, she has no claim to Haruka whatsoever, Haruka’s prerogatives are her own, Haruka can do what she wants. In response, though, Haruka merely shrugs. Trying another route of conversation, Michiru asks, “What will you do if you ever get pulled over by the police?”

“You think the police would be able to keep up with me?” she says jauntily. Michiru, again, doesn’t respond immediately, and Haruka blows out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know what I’d do. I just like to go fast. I need to keep moving, or else I…” She stops, abruptly, and clears her throat. “So how do I get to your spot by the sea?” she asks brusquely, all business again.

The mood whiplash is startling, and Michiru’s a bit discombobulated. “I...I’ll tell you,” she says. “It’s not far from here…”

* * *

 

Twenty minutes of small talk later, they arrive at Michiru’s clearing. It’s deserted, as always; Haruka parks, and they set off up the gravel path towards the edge of the cliff. The crashing of the waves and the sharp tang of salt water ground Michiru, returning her to a clean, natural, default state. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, and can almost feel the spray on her skin.

“Beautiful,” Haruka murmurs from behind her.

“It is,” Michiru replies, pleased that the spot is worthy enough of Haruka’s praise.

Haruka clears her throat. “I didn’t just mean the ocean.”

It’s exactly what she wanted, but Michiru is suddenly very aware that she’s alone with Haruka in the middle of a remote area, and she struggles to resist blushing. “I’ve always loved it out here,” she says instead.

“What about the ocean do you like?” Haruka asks, sounding genuinely fascinated.

Something about the moment, the situation, and Haruka makes Michiru lower her guard in the slightest. “When I was younger, I used to dream about swimming out into the ocean, until it swallowed me,” she says. “I didn’t want to die, but I just had this urge to swim and swim forever. Like if I swam enough, the ocean would hold me, and keep me safe.” She realizes she’s starting to ramble, and possibly also beginning to sound a bit insane. Cutting herself off, she forces a slight laugh. “But that’s just the foolish dream of a schoolgirl. Nothing could ever come of it.”

“No,” Haruka says, kicking a stone, “it’s not really foolish. I used to do the same sort of thing, only it was… I was little, okay, so I thought that if I kept running, I could outrun the wind. And if I could do that, I would just disappear. I thought that if I ever did it, then I wouldn’t be anything. I wouldn’t have to be anything, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Not my family, or school, or my body--” She stops suddenly, clenches a fist. “ _Damn_ it.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Michiru asks slowly, quietly, not wanting to startle Haruka back into herself again.

“No,” Haruka growls. A pause stretches for several beats between them. “You haven’t told anyone.”

“I told you I wouldn’t,” Michiru says. “Didn’t you believe me?”

The glance Haruka shoots her is piercing enough to almost cause Michiru to take a step back. “I really wanted to.”

Michiru holds her ground, doesn’t look away. “You should. It’s none of anybody else’s business.”

Haruka folds her arms. “Because I don’t particularly want to change.”

Michiru nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Another long silence lingers.

“Was that it?” Michiru finally asks, hoping, a bit too desperately, that there’s a little more coming, something that she can use as an excuse to stay here with Haruka, keep her talking, just get her to stay here with her.

But Haruka shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. Want to head back?”

Michiru bites her lip. Everything in her wants to say no, to say something, something of importance or at least interest. But she’s well aware that to this question, there is no acceptable answer other than “All right.”

She at least walks beside Haruka as they begin the trudge back to Haruka’s car. “Thank you for letting me come here,” Haruka says, obviously attempting to change the subject.

Michiru’s well aware of Haruka’s motives, but what else can she do? She allows it. “When you asked, there was nowhere else I thought--”

Two things happen at once: Michiru’s foot catches on some spare gravel and she finds herself slipping, and Haruka reaches out with lightning-quick reflexes to catch her. Something about the position leaves Michiru with her thigh sliding up between Haruka’s legs, and that’s the point at which she brushes against something solid.

She’s confused for about half a second; then Haruka squeaks, and a realization hits her. “Oh,” she breathes, glancing up at Haruka.

Haruka’s gone beet red and she lets Michiru go, twisting away to run a hand through her hair. “I can’t believe...you shouldn’t have…” She trails off. Finally she mumbles, “Let’s talk in the car.”

Back in the car, Michiru’s battling through the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, trying to think of something to say to put Haruka at ease. “Haruka, I--”

“I wear it sometimes, okay?” Haruka mutters, steadfastly avoiding Michiru’s eyes. “I just...have days.” She hesitates, and Michiru wisely decides to just shut up and listen. “Sometimes,” Haruka goes on, voice wavering, “I just...can’t go out without it. It feels wrong to be without it.” Without any warning, she slams her fist down on the steering wheel. “I’ve never felt right in dresses or anything like that, okay?” she growls. “It doesn’t mean that I want to… I like being seen...the way I’m seen...but it’s just never been important to me. If someone’s a man, or a woman, why does it really matter? I’ve never gotten it.” Haruka bites her lip, and damned if she doesn’t look close to the verge of tears. “God. I’m such…”

“You’re fine,” Michiru finally says, because she’s having a hard time standing it any longer, and because, as far as she’s concerned, Haruka _is._ She is fine, and perhaps she does have a point--maybe it shouldn’t really matter. Then, there’s the not insignificant fact that Michiru’s been doing her own research, been doing a bit of reading, and, well, perhaps she’s a little bit too intrigued by what, exactly, Haruka is wearing right now. Michiru’s pretty sure that this is an entirely inappropriate reaction, but she’s past the point of rational thought when it comes to Haruka.

“Is this why you made me leave?” Haruka finally says.

“When?”

“You know when,” she says, looking exhausted, ducking her head. “After the game. At the hotel. It was because you were bothered by me, weren’t you? Because I wouldn’t let you...I wouldn’t let you take my shirt off or anything like that.”

“Not because of that,” Michiru says slowly. “I was nervous, but it was because of who you were, not because of that. How did you not see that?”

Haruka still doesn’t look convinced. “I guess. But did you really--”

“Haruka.” Michiru cuts her off, shuts her down cold, because this is getting ridiculous. “You have to know how attractive you are,” she says, with a forthrightness that’s a bit startling even to her.

“Do you think that anyone would still find me attractive if they knew?” Haruka’s still turned away. She’s hiding, her eyes obscured beneath her bangs.

“How much does it matter to you what they think?” Michiru asks. “And does it matter to you at all what I think?”

Haruka glances over, wary. “What do you think?”

Michiru doesn’t know where it’s coming from. She doesn’t know how she got here. But she does know that she’s in too deep, it’s way too late to pull back now. She takes a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she says, all in a rush, forcing the words out before she can talk herself out of it. “It’s ridiculous, but you’re nearly all I’ve thought about for the past week. And it…” Michiru closes her eyes, briefly, steeling herself before moving on. “It doesn’t matter at all to me who you are, or what you do. I don’t _care_. I just know that I can’t help it. I need to be around you.”

Haruka’s just staring at her now, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and Michiru feels herself starting to blush. She’s right, it is ridiculous, it absolutely is when she thinks about it--why would Haruka care what she thinks? Why does Haruka need her opinion at all in her life? “I’m sorry,” Michiru murmurs, ducking her head, feeling like a massive idiot. “I didn’t mean to tell you all that. I know it’s not important. If you want to take me home now--”

“ _No,_ ” Haruka says firmly, almost fiercely, and Michiru takes a second look at her. She was wrong--it’s not shock and disgust in Haruka’s eyes, but something else, something that’s suddenly making Michiru fight the urge to shift in her seat and sending her heartbeat up and pounding in her ears. “How do you think I’d be able to let you go home after that?” Haruka murmurs, deep dark blue eyes boring into Michiru’s, and all of a sudden the car seems about ten degrees warmer.

“I left the door unlocked for you that night,” Michiru says. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” Haruka says.

Michiru half laughs. “I will always want you to,” she says. “I can barely be around you anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Michiru swallows hard. “It’s very difficult to be so close to you and not get to touch you.”

Haruka’s eyes flash. “You can,” she says.

Michiru’s not sure if it’s exactly what Haruka means, but her gaze flickers down. “Could...could I…”

Michiru’s actually stammering, but she feels like she’s a paragon of calm compared to Haruka, who suddenly freezes at the words. “You really want to…”

Michiru reaches out and lightly lands her hand on Haruka’s knee. “Really, Haruka, there are stranger things in the world,” she murmurs, trying to project her usual image of cool calmness for Haruka’s benefit. As far as Michiru’s concerned, she’s failing considerably at keeping herself together, but she’s faking it hard enough to make it work for Haruka.

Haruka blows out a tiny breath and lets herself lean back against the seat, staring straight ahead. “I don’t know why you’re still here,” she mumbles.

“Because I meant every word I said,” Michiru replies, tracing several small circles on Haruka’s thigh. “I can’t stop thinking about you. All day. Every night.” She deliberates for a moment, ponders whether it’s worth the possibility of getting shot down, and decides to just go for it. “Have you been thinking about me?” she asks, leaving a much more potent strain of vulnerability in her voice than she’d intended.

Haruka gulps. “Of course,” she whispers, voice growing ragged.

Michiru’s whole body clenches at that. She takes it to the next step: “Did you want to use this with me?” Carefully, deliberately, Michiru ghosts her fingertips across the fabric of Haruka’s pants. The plaid pattern is busy, obscuring any hint of a bulge, but Michiru just needs to move up a bit farther, and then she hits it, she brushes against firmness. She’s expecting it, but it’s still a sudden shock; she inhales quick, letting her fingers linger.

Haruka twitches her hips, clenches her teeth, still staring straight out past the windshield. “Is this okay?” Michiru asks quietly.

She watches Haruka’s throat bob as she swallows and dips her head once in a stilted nod. The air around them is stifling and almost too hot, small bursts of electricity crackling and popping and Michiru can’t quite get enough air, can’t quite take in a deep enough breath.

She drags her thumb across the ridge of the head, down the shaft, all the way down, down Haruka’s cock, to where she can feel Haruka’s heat. Tentatively, her fingers curl around it the best they can--it’s thicker than she’d have guessed, surprisingly thick and solid; she tests with a gentle, experimental squeeze and Haruka jerks suddenly, with a little whine, biting her lip immediately after as if she’s attempting to force the sound back in. “Sorry,” Haruka rasps.

“Don’t be,” Michiru murmurs, her own voice thick and low.

Her hand, she realizes, is shaking.

Michiru takes a firmer hold, strokes down its length, pushing the base up and against Haruka. “Still okay?” she whispers.

“Y-yeah,” Haruka mumbles.

Any doubt Michiru may have had about how exactly to go about doing this is rapidly disappearing. Her hand fits so well with Haruka, and it’s like the most natural thing in the world to find a rhythm, and the words are coming to her, they’re just there, she hardly has to think about it. “You’re big, you know,” she says coyly, because there’s probably no universe in existence in which Tenoh Haruka wouldn’t be hung.

Haruka’s eyelashes flutter. “ _Michiru_ ,” she whimpers.

Still--well--she’s still _jacking Haruka off_ as she continues, dredging up every bit of seduction that she can possibly manage. “I know you’ve thought about being inside of me,” she whispers. “You’d have to be careful; I’ve never taken anything like your size. You’d fill me, you know.”

“Fuck,” Haruka groans, breathing starting to get shaky, and it’s too much for Michiru, she needs to get closer. She nearly throws herself at Haruka, slipping one leg up and around to straddle her and fumbling with Haruka’s belt.

She slips Haruka’s cock out of her boxers and it’s gorgeous, Michiru’s by no means an expert on these sorts of things but it’s light pink and smooth and nothing less than Michiru had been imagining, and she’s all but overcome with a rush of lust.

Keeping one hand firmly wrapped around the base of Haruka’s cock, Michiru leans in to focus all of her energy on kissing her. Haruka’s already panting and it’s a strange sense of satisfaction Michiru gets, cutting Haruka off, listening to her suck in air and whimper as Michiru steals her breath away again and again.

She shifts forward, pressing herself fully up against Haruka, and the way she’s holding Haruka’s cock allows the blunt tip to slide against her opening and brush, perfectly aligned, with Michiru’s clit.

“Oh my god,” Michiru moans before she can help herself, bucking her hips up. She’s barraged by the exact sort of thoughts she’d just been teasing Haruka with, thoughts about what it would feel like to actually have Haruka inside of her. It’s so close but not quite there, and if Haruka’s half as good with her cock as she is with her fingers it would probably be _amazing_. It’s true that her cock is thick, much thicker than anything Michiru’s ever taken, and she’s craving the stretch, craving the fullness, so close to being completely consumed by just how much she wants Haruka right now.

Michiru knows she has to be close to soaked through at this point and for a brief second she worries about Haruka’s pants, before she figures that she has much more important things to do.

Haruka’s hand finally settles at Michiru’s hip, tracing the curve of her waist almost reverently before grabbing onto her, yanking her forward. “Move,” Haruka says, “against me. Please…”

Michiru doesn’t need to be told twice. She keeps stroking Haruka’s cock as she slides herself against it, little pulses of sensation shooting through her body with every move, and she leans forward to whisper in Haruka’s ear. “I like the way you said please; you’re so polite. Would you be that polite if you were begging me to let you fuck me?”

She slips the profanity in smoothly, suddenly, and judging by the little cry Haruka makes it has exactly the intended effect. Michiru herself is throbbing now, and she’s only making it worse as she keeps going. “I’d ride you just like this,” she breathes. “We’d barely need anything. You should,” she takes a deep breath, “you should feel just how wet I am for you.”

Instantly Haruka’s free hand slips up Michiru’s skirt, tracing across her underwear, slipping beneath her waistband. Michiru knows she’s wet, almost unreasonably so, and it’s all worth the way Haruka looks at her as she traces her way down Michiru’s opening, with her eyes wide and intense. “You’d really let me…”

“Let you? Haruka, I _need_ you to,” Michiru says, and she means every word of it. She doubles her speed in jacking Haruka off, and Haruka’s whining, bucking her hips up to meet every stroke, a telltale flush starting to spread across her cheekbones. “You’re going to come, aren’t you?” she murmurs in Haruka’s ear. “I can tell you’re close.”

“Yeah,” Haruka gasps, “I…” she trails off, eyes flickering shut.

“Do it,” Michiru breathes. “I want to watch you do it. I want you to come for me--”

Right in the middle of her sentence, a strange crunching noise pounds at the back of her consciousness. It takes her a couple of beats to process it through the haze fogging up her brain, but she and Haruka realize nearly at the same time what it is: another car, making its way up the road.

“Oh shit!” Haruka straightens and Michiru all but launches herself off Haruka, against the passenger seat, as Haruka’s struggling to shove her cock back in her pants and zip herself up and put herself back in presentable condition. Michiru quickly checks herself in the rearview mirror--she looks fine on the outside, but the sudden space between her and Haruka leaves Michiru cold, longing, missing the feeling of Haruka’s body. Still dazed, Michiru blinks, trying to clear out some of the maddening arousal, still absolutely ready for anything with Haruka.

The new arrival to the spot is a family, with two little children: a young boy and a young girl. They’re a perfectly nice family, and Michiru shoots them a glare that could freeze lava.

Haruka, meanwhile, is leaning forward, one hand on her forehead, the other whiteknuckling the steering wheel, eyes glazed over as she inhales and exhales with slow, deep breaths, obviously fighting to calm down. It’s an incredibly endearing look, but at this point, pretty much everything Haruka does is turning Michiru on, and she casts another extremely uncharitable look down at the new arrivals, who are slowly making their way down to the beach. The young boy has just placed his bucket on his head while his family looks on and applauds. It’s overwhelmingly adorable, and Michiru detests them all for ruining the moment.

“Well,” Haruka finally says.

Michiru almost laughs. “Well,” she agrees.

Haruka gives her a surprisingly shy look from beneath her eyelashes. “That was really…”

Michiru smooths her hair, checks her reflection in the mirror one more time, and turns back to Haruka, eyebrow raised. “Are you convinced yet that I don’t have any problems with you?”

Haruka grins. “I think you proved your point.” She shakes her head hard, obviously in an attempt to clear it.

“Are you okay to drive?” Michiru says lightly, daring to tease.

“Yes,” Haruka says, faux-offended. “You didn’t _completely_ shortcircuit me.”

“Pity,” Michiru sighs, half joking, half entirely meaning it. “That sounds rather like a challenge.”

Haruka starts her car and gazes over at Michiru, an almost tangible electric current passing between the two of them. “Only if you’re up for it,” she says.

“Always, with you,” Michiru murmurs.

The drive back to Michiru’s house is all too quick, and they’re there before she really knows it.

“Thank you for the ride,” Michiru says, gathering up her things. Then she reconsiders; before she loses her nerve, Michiru leans over, kisses Haruka’s cheek, slips her hand between Haruka’s legs, and whispers, “It’s so flattering to feel you still so hard for me. I can’t wait to continue this later.”

With that, in one fluid motion, she scoops up her coat and bag and exits the car.

She doesn’t glance back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been a bit of confusion about this story at a couple of other places that I've posted it, so just to make sure we're all on the same page, here's a quick note: In this story, Haruka was assigned the female sex at birth, meaning she was born with visible genitalia that caused doctors to declare her sex as female. However, in this story, for reasons that haven't been discussed in their entirety yet, Haruka is passing fulltime as male, meaning she is, with her clothing and appearance, trying to make people believe at first sight that she is a boy. In this story, Haruka's packing, meaning she's wearing a strapon dildo beneath her clothing. There are no flesh and blood penises involved. Michiru's being a bit intuitive, though, and has noticed that Haruka's not super comfortable with certain parts of her anatomy that are traditionally associated with women; she's also figured out that since she's packing, Haruka seems to be embracing the idea of the dildo. Therefore, Michiru is both trying to put Haruka at ease as well as pretty actively into the situation by saying/thinking things like "Haruka's cock," because it's becoming evident that Haruka feels the dildo is an extension of herself.
> 
> Also, this is not the end of the story--there's at least a part four forthcoming. In the meantime, though, please enjoy!

Composure.

Michiru’s been raised on it, and she’s good at it.

While she may be, as a whole, a disappointment to her parents, there was no way she could’ve made it through her childhood without absorbing a few key lessons, the most important--or at least the one she’s taken to heart--being that emotions are not meant to be displayed in public.

They’re not meant to be displayed, period. This is why she’s perfected her icy demeanor, her shield against the ignorance of the rest of her classmates. This is why, when confronted, it’s always the other girls leaving in tears after a few choice words from Michiru.

This is why she’s managed to survive high school at all.

Yes, she’s good at keeping her composure, good at keeping it all together, and she’s good enough at it to get this close to convincing herself that this whole thing with Tenoh Haruka is some weird aberration, a strange blip on the already messy enough radar screen that is her high school experience.

Especially after the afternoon she had, Michiru is caught up in a weird conversation hangover of sorts. Thinking back on the things she'd said to Haruka, she's fully aware that it was way too much, way too soon, and she can't stop kicking herself, regardless of how Haruka seemed to have felt about the situation.

 She still has the countdown until the last day of school running through her head.

She still has no reason to believe that this is going to change anything. After all, it doesn’t particularly matter what Michiru thinks or what Michiru knows: Haruka’s still, for all intents and purposes, the most popular guy in school, and Haruka still has legions of girls throwing themselves at her feet every time she so much as blinks in their direction, and thinking logically, it makes no sense for Haruka to want to give that up so close to graduation just because of a few clandestine gropefests with designated school lesbian freak Kaioh Michiru of all people.

Yes, Haruka’s charming and, weirdly, not actually a complete ass. And of course, Haruka is gorgeous. And she’s not even going to mention how she kind of can’t stop thinking about Haruka’s cock and how exactly it felt to get Haruka that close to completely unraveling beneath her.

But none of it, in the long run,matters.

She’s not going to get to have Haruka, not really. That’s not how it works.

By the end of the evening, Michiru’s almost convinced herself to let it go. Maybe she and Haruka can still meet up, but it’s not going to be anything. It’ll be simple.

That is, until the next morning.

At the shoe cubbies, Haruka doesn’t mess around, doesn’t go for anything cute like note-passing. One moment Michiru’s stepping into her slippers, and the next Haruka’s behind her, growling in her ear, “Baseball field. After school.”

Michiru can no more ignore the shiver of desire that runs down her spine than she can stop the satisfied smile from spreading across her face, and it’s all she can do to hold firm.

* * *

 

After a blurry day of lessons and a completely inadequate attempt at her chores, Michiru makes her way out to the baseball field, where Haruka, it appears, is well past sustaining any sense of decorum. She barely allows time for greetings before all but jumping Michiru.

The steel girders of the baseball field’s bleachers dig into her back and Haruka’s tongue is in her mouth and Haruka’s solid strength is all pushed up against her, and her head’s already starting to spin. “We,” she says, tearing herself away with considerable effort, “can’t do this here. There are people around.”

“I don’t care,” Haruka rasps, leaning in again, but Michiru puts her hand up, shoves her back lightly.

“You should care,” she says. “I can’t do half of the things I’d like to do to you while we’re here in public.”

As expected, that catches Haruka’s attention. “Where can we go?”

“My house,” Michiru says immediately. “My parents are never home, and--” She cuts herself off. Haruka really, really does not need to know anything about her parents. She does know they aren’t home, though, at the very least--it’s not like them to be home without making a huge fuss about it--and it’s a place, if nothing else.

But Haruka, to her credit, doesn’t question it. After a harried drive to Michiru’s house, even though Michiru can see Haruka ogling, she doesn’t comment at all, and Michiru’s thankful; mainly just eager to tug her upstairs and get her into her room and _have_ her already.

Inside, it’s her turn to push Haruka up against her closed and locked bedroom door, shucking off her blazer and tossing it somewhere and deftly unbuttoning Haruka’s shirt. She lingers at the hem of Haruka’s undershirt. “Do you want it off?”

She remembers to ask, and she’s grateful that she did when Haruka bites her lip. “Not...this time.”

And it’s a couple of things all rolled up in there, the fact that Haruka’s even saying something like ‘this time,’ as if this is only one in a whole line of times. “Okay,” she says, trying to put Haruka at ease, kissing up her jawline, “okay,” she says in Haruka’s ear. “But have you noticed just how clothed I am right now?”

And that’s enough to snap Haruka back, and the next thing she knows she’s out of her top and bra and Haruka’s mouth is wet and warm on a hardened nipple. She gasps, feels herself getting shaky already. “Don’t tease,” she says, tugging Haruka over to her bed.

“Thank god,” Haruka mumbles, and she’s smiling but Michiru’s also pretty sure that she’s being entirely unironic, as they collapse onto the mattress in a tangle of kicking off the rest of their respective irrelevant clothing.

Haruka lets out a thick groan the instant Michiru so much as brushes against her bare thigh, and the noise sends a shockwave through Michiru’s system. Mostly she just feels strikingly _awake_ , like all of her senses have been blocked up for the past 24 hours and now everything’s almost too crystal-clear and bright.

She rolls over and slings a leg over Haruka, straddling her on the bed, as she palms the hardness in Haruka’s navy blue boxer briefs. Haruka jolts at the touch and stares at Michiru, eyes wide and anguished and imploring, and the sight sends another pulsing, shivery wave of arousal through her system. "I meant it, I’m not going to tease you," she murmurs voice low and drenched in sex. "And I won't waste any more time."

Haruka tugs Michiru down and breathes in her ear, "I could hardly even sleep last night, I was so hard for you."

Michiru barely holds back a whine and grinds herself against Haruka's cock. "Tell me how much you were thinking of me," she says breathlessly. "Did you come thinking about this?"

"No," she says. "I didn't do anything last night. This is all yours."

Michiru's eyes widen at the implication. "You must be frustrated," she says.

Haruka's gaze locks on hers, piercing. "Not saying I didn't do _anything_ ," she says. “Just that I wouldn’t let myself come.”

Michiru bites her lip. "You need to be inside of me. Right now."

Haruka groans, twitches her hips. "Look in the inner pocket," she says, gesturing to where she'd flung her brown leather schoolbag in the haste of undressing.

This action seems to require moving away from Haruka, which is about the last thing Michiru wants to do, but then again, the faster she does it means the faster they'll get to move on to other things.

What she's not expecting is the bottle she finds.

"You carry this around with you?" she asks, amazed.

Haruka coughs. "You don't really seem to be the type to care much about location, so..."

Rolling back over, Michiru tugs at Haruka's boxer briefs, shimmying them off. "It's cute that you didn't expect me to have my own."

She does, too, buried in the second drawer of her nightstand beneath a thick enough layer of books and feminine hygiene products and sheet music to throw off anyone who might feel suddenly moved to investigate her life.

Michiru is pretty sure that she's approximately as wet as a small ocean and could probably take Haruka just fine, but she knows from personal experience and a few long evenings alone in this exact same bed that a little extra won’t hurt, so she flicks the cap open. Squeezing a healthy dollop of the lube out onto the top of Haruka's cock, she drags her hand down the entire shaft for an equal coating and, for good measure, reaches down to slip her first two fingers inside herself. She’s so wet, just as she thought, and she fights a quick battle to her control herself.

Haruka hisses and falls back against the headboard, eyes locked on Michiru's motions. Michiru can't help but tease, purposefully being sure to push the base up against Haruka with each stroke. "Good?" she asks.

"Mm," is all that Haruka can manage.

"So think about how good it'll feel when you're fucking me," she breathes, "when I'm riding you and you're stretching me open and you're coming inside of me."

"So do it," Haruka growls.

Michiru swipes her sticky hand on the sheets--this bedding is going to have to be washed anyway, why be tidy at this point, when there's an achingly hard, absurdly gorgeous woman sprawled out on the bed, just waiting to be attended to?

“Go slow,” she mumbles, despite the way her heart is pounding in her ears.

Haruka holds the base of her cock, eyes locked on the sight as Michiru arranges herself. “Please just do it.”

If not for the fact that she’s just this side of desperate, Michiru would comment, but she’s with Haruka here--she _needs_ Haruka inside of her. The thing is that Haruka’s cock is actually pretty big--not that Michiru is at all a world expert on penises, but she was telling the truth about it being bigger than anything else she’s ever handled, and she’s getting a tiny bit anxious.

So she forces herself to take a couple of deep breaths and guides the first few inches of Haruka’s cock inside of her.

It’s a stretch, to be sure. She’s full, fuller than she’s ever been, but as she sinks down there’s no actual pain or discomfort. Mainly it just feels right, like this is exactly what she’s been needing, like she was meant to have Haruka inside of her.

“Move,” she says. There’s a little quavery undertone to her voice as she sits back, lets herself get used to the feeling.

Haruka, though, is giving her the most awestruck look. “You feel amazing.”

Michiru can’t fight back a grin, although she’s getting maybe a bit frustrated. She rocks her hips forward, sending Haruka’s cock a bit deeper inside of her, and feels her eyes go wide at the sensation. She gasps, “ _Move_ , Haruka!”

Haruka bucks her hips up in a shaky rhythm and Michiru does her best to match her, and after a few confused strokes they’ve gotten it, and Michiru’s pulling it off, she’s actually riding Haruka.

“Is this what you expected?” she whispers.

Haruka can barely find it in herself to answer in the affirmative--she’s already almost incoherent, Michiru realizes with a giddy thrill. As for Michiru, it feels good, but just on this side of mindblowing, and it's more of a maddening tease than anything. She spreads her legs a tiny bit wider, leans forward just a little more, and--

She moans almost involuntarily as a shiver races up her spine, and oh.

So that's it.

 _That’s_ why everyone raves about this position.

Haruka exhales hard through gritted teeth and whiteknuckles the sheets in her grip, spread eagled on her back, not breaking eye contact with Michiru for a second. “You,” she says. “This...this is…”

Michiru places her finger on Haruka’s lips to silence her. “I know,” she says, feeling the familiar shakiness starting to mount inside of herself, too.

Haruka is so _gorgeous_ like this, caught up in the throes, all beautiful tan skin and sharp jaw and blue eyes, and Michiru just wants to blow Haruka’s mind. She wants to make sure that Haruka’s coming to the thought of this for weeks, months, long after graduation and whatever else might happen then.

And Michiru's not sure where exactly the words are coming from, but all of a sudden they're there at the tip of her tongue and pouring out of her mouth. She starts slow. “You,” she says, testing the waters, “really are the most beautiful boy in school.”

Haruka’s eyes flash. “Y-yeah?” she stammers, and Michiru takes it as more than enough of an invitation to keep going.

“Yes,” she says, “but nobody ever talks about how big your cock is, too.”

“Oh,” Haruka gulps, and she tentatively rests a hand on Michiru’s waist to pull her closer.

Michiru slides her hand over Haruka’s. “You’re so deep inside me,” she whispers. “I bet you put the other boys in school to absolute shame.”

She worries for a moment that mentioning other boys may have been a bad move, but Haruka just answers with a shaky groan. “Michiru...don’t...don’t stop talking…”

Why would she ever stop, she thinks to herself. “I can’t wait to come just like this, screaming your name. You’re so big inside of me, you’re so hard, filling me up like this…”

Haruka's trembling, biting her lower lip. "Michiru, I...I'm going to..."

"You're going to come?" Michiru makes sure she doesn’t change anything she's doing physically as she continues. "So do it," she says. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Haruka gasps, her eyes squeezing shut, and that does it.

She's never, she realizes, actually gotten to watch Haruka come, never gotten the full view, and as Haruka bites her lip and cries out and rides it out, rolling her hips and jerking up, Michiru feels herself get even wetter at the sight.

Haruka’s breathing hard, with a few residual twitches, and Michiru slows. "Should I move?" she asks, in case Haruka's the ultra sensitive type. Whichever way Haruka answers, she’ll be fine--at this point, it’s not going to take long with her hand if need be.

But Haruka shakes her head, casting a bleary blue gaze up at Michiru. “No,” she says, “stay. I’m fine. I want…” she swallows hard. “That was...Michiru...I want to feel you come around my cock.”

Michiru’s wound up and so wet and it’s not going to take her long. Haruka’s watching her intently, like she still can’t believe this is actually happening. “Enjoying the view?”

“More than you know,” Haruka breathes.

There’s something about Haruka’s eyes all over her while she shamelessly fucks herself on Haruka’s cock that’s almost the final push, and it’s only a few more strokes before she’s coming.

Michiru’s weirdly exhausted; it feels like she's earned her orgasm and now it's all she can do to keep herself upright. She lets herself sink forward, tentative, testing if Haruka will support her. Haruka's hand finds its way to the small of Michiru's back with a warm, firm weight, and Michiru allows herself to collapse, snuggling into Haruka’s chest and the softness of her well-worn undershirt.

Despite the exertion of the evening, Haruka still smells nice, like laundry detergent and the faintest underlayer of sweat and a crisp, light cologne that's totally wrong for winter but somehow works for Haruka anyway, because of course it does.

Haruka’s the first to speak. “Thank you,” she says, breaking the silence

“Don’t thank me for having sex with you,” Michiru replies, trying to make it a bit lighthearted. “I’m not as cheap as you make me sound.”

“Not for that!” Haruka says hastily. “More like thank you...for not being weird. About things.”

Ah. So this is what Michiru’s imagining it’s about. “Again,” she says, “you don’t have to thank me for being a decent human being.”

“It’s more than being a decent human being.”

“Hm…” Michiru’s hand finds its way down between them to Haruka’s cock. It’s still sticky with lube and come, and that probably shouldn’t be turning Michiru on quite as much as it is. “I meant everything I said. It really is lovely, Haruka.”

Haruka shivers under Michiru’s touch. “Whatever happened to not teasing?”

Michiru rests her forehead against Haruka’s. “You don’t think this is more fun? And if you don’t, I’m sure we could come up with plenty of other things to do…”

“No, it’s good,” Haruka says, shifting beneath Michiru’s touch, starting to get squirmy. “So...” she says, “when do your parents come home?”

Michiru manages not to laugh. “Basically never.”

Then the implications hit her.

She answers Haruka’s questioning gaze by grinding herself up against Haruka and meeting her lips once more.

* * *

 

The next day at school, Michiru vows to herself that she really, really needs to start getting herself together. She’s already been accepted to university and for the most part has everything squared away, but if she keeps underperforming on math tests and zoning out when teachers ask her questions, she’s going to cause exactly the kind of concern she strives to avoid.

It’s just so hard to keep her eyes off Haruka, though, especially when Haruka looks so good. Especially when, every time she catches her looking, Haruka shoots her this small little smirk that sends Michiru into a whole involved memory spiral of the previous evening that absolutely decimates any sort of concentration.

She wonders if Haruka’s having the same problems that she’s having.

Haruka’s a mediocre student, going by class lists and anecdotal evidence, but mediocre at Mugen would be near the top at an ordinary school like Juuban, so she has no doubt about the sharpness of Haruka’s mind. Haruka’s okay at math--Michiru watches her get an 81 on the day’s test, to back that claim up. She’s very good at history, but struggles with the conventions of essay writing in Modern Japanese. Haruka forgets altogether to turn in an essay that they’ve had a week to complete (and that Michiru’s had done for, oh, approximately a week) and gets a spectacular lecture from Oshiro-sensei that even she can’t talk her way out of, and it makes Michiru wonder if maybe, just maybe, she might be what’s distracting Haruka.

She knows this shouldn’t please her, but it does anyway.

The day is progressing along like any other day; Michiru’s doodling in the margins of her notes in Social Studies and daydreaming about the next time she can get Haruka beneath her when three dreaded words cut through her consciousness: “Working with partners.”

There are certain people out there who are good at things like people. Even on her best days, in an ideal world, that group wouldn’t involve Michiru. It’s with a deep reluctance that she forces herself back into reality and tunes into Sasaki-sensei’s monologue. The important bits stick in her mind: _the school’s winter festival...third years are in charge of booths...partners have been assigned…_

A commotion erupts as the entire class rises to its feet, students crowding to the back of the room, where the partner list is posted. Michiru gets up much more slowly, not particularly eager to see, but as soon as she sees the list, her eye catches on her name, and, subsequently, her group.

Grey, Kaioh, Tenoh, Tsutakawa.

Somehow, Elsa’s managed to fight her way through the crowd to Michiru’s side. "Hey, we're partners!" Elsa chirps. "With...oh. And...oh!" Elsa gives her an obviously significant wide-eyed look. Michiru's not sure if it's in reference to Tsutakawa or to Haruka--it should be because of them having to work with Tsutakawa, the girl who made Michiru's life a living hell for several weeks back when Michiru's sexuality had become the school's hot topic, but Michiru knows that it's probably due to Haruka and all of Elsa's sordid ponderings about the two of them.

Michiru briefly wonders what Elsa would think if she actually knew just what exactly she and Haruka had been doing the previous night.

Elsa’s heart probably would not survive the experience, not to mention anything about Michiru herself.

She can sense that Haruka’s trying to get her attention and Tsutakawa’s thinking some incredibly unkind thoughts as the group convenes, dragging chairs into a lopsided circle.

“So!” Elsa has apparently deemed herself the best choice to be the group moderator, and Michiru is grateful. “Do we have any ideas?”

She’s met with a three-pronged wall of silence. Tsutakawa’s sulking and biting at her thumbnail, Haruka’s not being subtle at all about looking at Michiru, and Michiru’s doing her best to avoid looking back at Haruka.

Elsa laughs. “Come on, guys, you can’t make me decide all of this on my own. Unless you want a booth themed around, like, the color pink and calisthenics, which, I don’t know, I could live with, but…”

Tsutakawa heaves a massive sigh, like she’s put upon just for having to say words. “I have an idea,” she says. “We could make a booth about makeup. We could have trials and samples and everything.”

“Aw, but wouldn’t that be so boring for Tenoh-san?” Elsa says. She nudges Haruka. “Unless you’d be into a series of lectures from three girls about the intricacies of painting one’s face.” She pauses. “Actually, I can think of worse things for a guy to endure...”

Tsutakawa cuts Elsa off. “Well, of course Tenoh-san would be the muscle to help us build the booth. And besides, I’m sure it would be no problem at all getting girls to come to our booth if he was there!” Tsutakawa stops just short of batting her eyelashes at Haruka, who laughs a bit nervously.

Michiru bites the inside of her cheek. Hard. “We shouldn’t do the makeup.”

“Oh, really?” Tsutakawa snaps. “What do you have against _makeup_ , Michiru? Are you really--”

Michiru jumps back in before Tsutakawa can go off again--Michiru’s more than ready to defend herself if need be, but she’s going to have to be working with Tsutakawa and she’d really rather not make this more difficult than it already is. “It’s a sanitation issue, Tsutakawa-san. Unless we can procure enough test tools, people aren’t going to want to share. Besides, Elsa-san has a point--we’d be alienating half the school.”

“Not necessarily, maybe guys would want to know stuff...for their girlfriends...” Tsutakawa trails off, grumbling, well-aware that she’s been shot down. “Well, I don’t know! I don’t hear you suggesting anything better, Kaioh-san. What would you even want to do, some art booth or something?”

Tsutakawa spits the word ‘art’ like it’s a curse, but there’s a certain silence dawning on the rest of the group.

“An art booth, huh?” Haruka says slowly, the first time she’s really spoken.

“Yeah, hey, I don’t know, Michi-chan, that could be fun! What would we do?”

And somehow now all eyes are on Michiru. Elsa’s getting excited, bouncing in her seat, and Haruka’s giving Michiru this little encouraging smile, and Tsutakawa looks like she wants to punch Michiru in the face.

All in all, it’s quite satisfying.

“Yes, an art booth,” Michiru says, deciding to run with it. “It could be a dual purpose booth. We could have sections on popular art styles of the past, along with a station of art supplies so people can actually do art.”

“That would be so great!” Elsa beams, nearly jumping out of her chair. “Especially now because we’re all third years. When was the last time we actually got to do anything fun?”

“We could only use the sorts of art supplies we used when we were younger,” Haruka adds. “I haven’t gotten a chance to color in years.”

“Tenoh Haruka-san, coloring?” Elsa says. “Um, cutest image ever. Yes. Art booth. Let’s do it!”

“Wait a minute--” Tsutakawa starts.

“Yes, let’s,” Haruka says, tearing a sheet of paper out of her notebook to plan. Michiru can’t help but reward her with a smile for the support, and Haruka gives it right back, a rather goofy grin that lights up her whole face.

Haruka is such a hot, gorgeous dork; Michiru can hardly stand it.

Elsa plucks the pen and paper from Haruka’s hands. “Okay, so jobs!” she says. “We need to build the booth, we need someone to research, and we need someone to get art supplies.”

“So probably two people to build and operate the booth,” Haruka muses.

There aren’t a lot of ways this could end well. Michiru can’t work with Tsutakawa, and she probably really shouldn’t work with Haruka. She throws Elsa an imploring gaze.

Elsa notices and narrows her eyes, but heaves a heavy sigh. “I think Tsutakawa-san and I should work on the booth,” she says.

“Me?!” Tsutakawa exclaims. “Wouldn’t that job be better suited to someone who actually knows how to work with tools? Or, someone who could teach me?” She looks over at Haruka again, and Michiru has to struggle to not openly call her out.

“I can totally teach you, Tsutakawa-san!” Elsa says, making a muscle and winking.

“I’ll do the research,” Michiru says, quickly laying claim to a job that seems to be under no contention.

“So I’m going to get the art supplies?” Haruka asks.

"Perfect. Haruka could charm the crayons out of anyone," Elsa says.

Michiru rolls her eyes so hard she's a bit worried for the welfare of her vision. Haruka, meanwhile, looks very pleased with herself indeed. "I've never heard it put quite like that, Elsa-san."

Elsa grins and playfully smacks Haruka's shoulder. "Oh, I actually surprised the great Tenoh-san? What do I get?"

Haruka raises an eyebrow. "What would you like?"

The sudden rush of anger that flares up in Michiru’s chest is entirely unexpected, as well as entirely unjustified.

She doesn’t have a claim on Haruka. It’s not like Haruka’s hers.

 But watching Tsutakawa all but throw herself at Haruka, and watching Haruka flirt, even just with Elsa…

She stands up abruptly, sending her chair scooting back with a harsh scrape. Her entire group turns to stare at her.

“You okay, Michi-chan?” Elsa asks.

Michiru studiously avoids Haruka’s eyes and makes a mental vow to herself to have a serious discussion with Elsa about using this ‘Michi-chan’ nonsense in public as soon as possible. “I’m fine. I’m going to go start on the research,” she says, and heads for the library.

* * *

 

Michiru has always liked libraries. She can think of absolutely nothing to quarrel with about a building full of books in which talking is prohibited, and as she descends into the cool, abandoned stacks, she can feel her heartbeat starting to even out.

Which is, until she catches a flicker of a maroon blazer one row over.

“Is anyone else with you?” she says.

Haruka pokes her head around the corner. “No, I’m off gathering art supplies, of course.” Pause. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Michiru turns herself toward the books directly in front of her. She is, in fact, nowhere near the Arts section.

Then a strong pair of arms wraps around her and a low voice whispers in her ear, “This doesn’t look much like art research.”

Michiru cranes her neck back the best she can. “Actually,” she says, “the art section is right over there.”She points in a general direction that may or may not be correct.

“Hm.” Haruka’s just the right height for her chin to fit perfectly on Michiru’s shoulder, and she nuzzles Michiru’s neck. “Are you mad at me?”

Michiru shivers, tipping her head back and to the side, allowing Haruka more access. “No,” she says, meaning it. After all, there’s something unexpected, and promising, and honestly, thrilling about being alone in the stacks with Haruka. “And you? You’re in the wrong place to find art supplies.”

“I wasn’t sure where to go. I thought I’d ask the expert.” One of Haruka’s hands slides down and gently tugs Michiru’s shirt untucked. Fingertips meet bare skin and glide their way up the smoothness of Michiru’s abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before coming to Michiru’s bra. Haruka lingers on the thin material, grazing across one of Michiru’s nipples just long enough to tease it into hardness, before pinching it suddenly. Michiru jumps at the shock. Haruka’s handling her with a certain mastery now, drawing Michiru up against her, with a slight throaty chuckle as she keeps working at Michiru’s nipple, rough, just the way she likes it, the way that Haruka knows she likes it.

“You’re sure we’re alone?” she whispers. Michiru can feel herself losing her grasp on her common sense and she sincerely hopes that Haruka’s well aware of what she’s doing, because Michiru’s traitorous body is starting to force her into the haze of fuzzy arousal that more or less dominates her life now.

“We’re alone,” Haruka says, nipping at Michiru’s earlobe. Her tone takes on a teasing lilt. “Most of the other groups didn’t decide to create booths that require research.”

As Haruka moves down and grazes her teeth across the tender skin of Michiru’s neck, she swallows hard. “Their loss. Don’t leave any marks.”

“No?” Haruka lathes her tongue down Michiru’s neck and punctuates it with a sharp bite to the juncture of Michiru’s neck and shoulder.

Michiru tries her best to stifle a moan. “Be careful,” she says, but any actual admonishment gets lost in the thick layer of lust coating her words.

Haruka pulls Michiru even closer. “I’m always careful.”

Michiru’s able to manage a curt laugh. “No, you’re not.” And as Haruka’s other hand moves its way past the waistband of Michiru’s skirt, she gives in entirely, securing her grip on the shelf. “And that’s all right.”

She can hear the smile in Haruka’s voice as she says, “You never did strike me as the type who went for boring.” Her fingers wander straight down, tracing a delicate pattern against Michiru’s clit.

Michiru’s whole body spasms. “Yes,” she forces out, “and apparently I struck you as the type who went for someone like you.”

Haruka dips down and slips one finger inside Michiru easily. “If you could feel how wet you are, you’d know I was right.”

Michiru exhales a slow, shaky breath as Haruka adds a second finger, works her way into a rhythm, her thumb brushing against Michiru’s clit with every stroke. She whimpers and rests her head against the shelf, old dust swirling around her head. “If you’re going to do this, just do it. Don’t tease me.”

The moment that the sentence finishes leaving Michiru’s mouth, Haruka bites brutally at Michiru’s neck and grips Michiru’s breast hard and Michiru can’t help a sharp wrenching cry.

“Shhh,” Haruka says, obviously enjoying this way too much, “we’re in a _library_ , Michiru.”

Michiru bites her lip in abject frustration. "The next time I get you alone..."

Haruka grins. "I came last night thinking about you," she breathes, and Michiru clenches, somehow already close.

She manages to cling to her last vestiges of clarity to grope behind her. She is one hundred percent not surprised to feel that Haruka's wearing her cock, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. "Did you?" She ponders what to say next, then just goes for it. "Thinking about me makes you that hard?"

She feels more than hears Haruka's sharp intake of breath up against her back. "Always, Michiru," she says shakily, “always."

The angle is far from ideal, but Michiru persists, still able to work her way into a nice rhythm on Haruka's cock. "Just like this?" She says, and she was right, the mental image of Haruka sprawled out in bed, cock fisted in her hand, is just as beautiful as she'd figured. "What did you think about?"

Haruka pauses for a moment before she appears to catch herself, reaching down, snatching Michiru's hand away, and pinning it against the bookshelf. She grips it just a little harder than she needs to, and the roughness is working wonders for Michiru as she squirms beneath Haruka's touch. “The first time,” Haruka murmurs, “I thought about you on top of me. The second time--”

“Oh,” Michiru breathes.

“--I thought about you beneath me. The third time, I thought about being between your legs. And the fourth time, I thought about the next time I would get to have you, just like this.”

Michiru shivers. “No wonder you didn’t have time to finish your Modern Japanese essay.”

“Just because I hate Modern Japanese doesn’t mean that you’re only an excuse.”

“That fourth time. Was this what you were imagining?”

"Not exactly. But maybe I'll make it one for next time." 

With that, it feels like Haruka doubles the speed against Michiru’s clit and she clutches the shelving with her free hand as her knees nearly buckle, trying to hold back any noises.

And that’s when Haruka slaps her hand over Michiru’s mouth.

She tries to say something but can’t, tries to moan but it’s muffled, and Haruka’s being so rough and everything about this is so forbidden and she can feel the pressure mounting, the heat rising, and Haruka just keeps going. “Do you know how you look when you come?” she whispers. “You get all shaky and there’s this sound you make and you close your eyes, like you can’t quite believe it’s actually happening to you. I came all over myself thinking about that.”

Michiru whimpers.

“And I want to see it again,” Haruka murmurs. “I want to see you come like this, right here, right now, against this shelf, where anyone who wanted to walk by could see you--”

It hits her almost out of nowhere, one moment still building and the next coming, coming hard, her whole body shuddering and clenching around Haruka’s hand, and she’s grateful that Haruka’s covering her mouth.

She rides out the last few aftershocks with Haruka working her back down, head spinning, still not entirely sure what just happened.

Haruka pulls her hand out of Michiru's underwear, but leaves it gently cradling Michiru's abdomen. "Not bad?"

Michiru’s still trying to catch her breath. “You are incorrigible.” There’s absolutely no way, though, that she’s going to be able to work herself into an actual lather. She’s content and warm and still buzzing all over. If she wiggles, she can feel Haruka’s hardness pressed up against her and she’s just starting to plot how she’s going to take care of that, when she gets the sudden sensation that they’re not entirely alone. She’s about to comment to Haruka when a blithely wandering Elsa Grey turns the corner and spots them.

"Hey, Michi-chan! ...And Haruka-san?" There are questions ALL over Elsa's face and Michiru wonders how the hell they're going to explain this one.

Haruka leans over Michiru quickly and plucks a book off the shelf. "I was helping her grab this," she says, backing away and brandishing the volume in her hand.

It's not the best idea, but out of all the available options there probably could have been worse ones, and Michiru is more thankful than ever that both of their uniforms are only in mild disarray and no real clothing has been lost.

"Is that for our booth?" Elsa asks.

"Yes," Michiru and Haruka say in unison. They exchange glances. Each looks away as soon as eye contact is made.

"Uh-huh," Elsa says, and the problem with Elsa Grey is that not only is she friendly and popular and charming and talented, but she's also smart, and there's no way on earth that she's buying this for a second. “So. Uh, botany? You’re taking this booth in an unexpected direction.”

Michiru’s eyes drift to the title of the book Haruka’s holding: The Joy of Saxifrage.

Oh, for god’s sake.

“Source material,” she says, pulling the excuse out of thin air.

Haruka’s nodding along with her. “Right. To draw plants. Because a lot of famous artists drew plants. Like Monet?” She trails off, giving Michiru a look like, _Right_?

Before they can barrel too far down the obviously ill-advised path of testing Haruka’s art history knowledge, Elsa, thankfully, steps in. "Well, hate to break it to you two, but Sensei told me to come tell you that the idea's still good but maybe we should narrow the scope of it more. Make it just art, or just education. What do you think?"

Michiru waits for Haruka to speak, then realizes that Haruka’s waiting for her to speak. “I suppose art,” she says, seizing onto the excuse to remove themselves from the library as quickly as possible,

"I vote art," Haruka says. "Personally, I like getting to do things." It's not even that much of an innuendo, but Michiru can still see Haruka, out of the corner of her eye, shoot Michiru a look and clear her throat. Michiru facepalms in her mind. It's a wonder how Haruka can have her shoved up a library shelf, giving her an amazing orgasm and whispering an amazing filthy monologue in one moment, and then in the next be such a massive dork.

“Right!” Elsa says, eyebrow raised. “So we’re going to be an art booth. I’m going to go report back to Sensei. And Tsutakawa-san. By the way, Haruka-san, it looks like you’re doing a really good job finding us art supplies.”

That’s the last straw to push Haruka over the edge into full-on blushing. “I...didn’t know where to find them.”

Elsa gives Michiru an almost pitying look. “Did you try...the art supply closet?”

Haruka coughs. “It was locked.”

“Huh,” Elsa says. “That’s definitely a predicament. Wouldn’t want to be you, Haruka-san.” She gives Michiru the most pointed look in the history of looks. “Okay, well, I’m off. See you guys back in the classroom.”

They both listen as Elsa’s footsteps pad away, straining their ears until the last of the noise fades.

Only then does Michiru allow herself to relax in the slightest. “Always careful, Tenoh Haruka?”

"Well, how was I supposed to know that Sensei would send Elsa-san out to look for us?" She reshelves the book and wraps her arms around Michiru.

Michiru allows herself to sink back into Haruka's embrace, but can't resist pressing it a bit more. "You realize how much damage control I'm going to have to do?"she murmurs, reaching up to tuck a flyaway strand of blonde hair back behind Haruka’s ear.

Haruka, for what it’s worth, is blatantly unrepentant. “Still complaining, even after that?”

Michiru allows a little sigh, but she’s still warm and fuzzy and in no particular mood to really get upset.

Haruka presses a quick kiss to Michiru’s temple and straightens. “I suppose I should leave you to your research. I have to go.”

“And do what?”

Haruka casts a smirk over her shoulder, adjusting her tie. “Find some art supplies, of course. I can’t go back empty-handed to Grey-san and Tsutakawa-san after all that.”

A faint smile finds its way onto Michiru’s face. Then, once again, reality sets in, and it’s only more pervasive in the context of the school and their classmates. It’s clear in the way that they both reacted that there’s something about what they’re doing that they can’t do.

Michiru reminds herself to not let herself get in too deep.

* * *

 

Elsa catches Michiru's sleeve while they're cleaning after school, the first potential private opportunity they've had since the library. "We _so_ need to talk," she says.

Michiru gestures down at the rag in Elsa's hand, the tool for her task of wiping down the counters. "We have to clean," she says. "This area's already done, so..." She leaves the last word dangling to give Elsa the opportunity to depart with grace.

But it is, after all, Elsa Grey, who never gives up without a fight. She casually, quickly, kicks over the nearby garbage can, flinging debris all over the floor and the nearby counter. “Oh, oops!” she says. “How clumsy of me.”

Michiru’s jaw drops. “You _will_ clean that up.”

Elsa swipes the rag across the counter, eyes locked on Michiru’s. “Of course I will. Looks like there’s a lot of stuff for us to clean in this particular corner, huh? Like, a lot. It’ll probably take us a while to clean it up. Because there’s so much and all.”

Michiru clutches the handle of the broom with a death grip, thoroughly annoyed at Elsa’s rather ingenious setup. She could just leave, but doing that would only serve to implicate her further. “Fine,” she says, forcing herself to keep her tone neutral as she starts to sweep up the mess. “What do you want to talk about?”

Elsa glances around; nobody else is in earshot. “Okay,” she whispers, “this doesn’t have to be hard, Michiru. You know that I can keep my mouth shut. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I care about you. So please. Will you just tell me what’s going on with you and Haruka-san?”

Michiru swallows hard. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” Elsa picks up the garbage can and starts swiping off crumbs from the counter. “He sure looked friendly with you in the library for ‘nothing.’”

“He was helping me get a book,” Michiru says, a bit disgruntled that this excuse is all she has to work with.

Elsa heaves a huge sigh. “Do you actually think I’m an idiot, or are you just hoping that I’m not paying any attention to you?”

“What?” Michiru can’t recall the last time she’s heard Elsa sound this legitimately upset. Frustrated, sure; every day brings some sort of new crisis. And Elsa’s just so enthusiastic about... _feeling_ things, so it’s not uncommon for her to have her moments.

But this is Elsa, Elsa Grey, of all people, actually mad, and Michiru knows she needs to tread carefully.

“I just don’t understand, okay?” Elsa says. “I mean, I totally understand that you’re you and that you’re all mysterious and deeper than I could ever hope to be. But if you don’t want to talk about it, just say you don’t want to talk about it.”

It’s not that Michiru wants to hurt Elsa, even though she clearly has, but she doesn’t have a choice. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Michiru says faintly.

“I’ll remind you,” Elsa says, “I’ve been your friend for years, okay? Even when this whole school turned its back on you, I never did. So you don’t want to talk about it? Okay. But when you keep denying ANYTHING going on, you and I both know you’re lying to my face, and I just think that maybe after everything that it’s a little shitty.”

A long silence stretches between them. “What is this even about?” Michiru asks. “Are you jealous?”

Elsa’s eyes widen. “Jealous of who? Of Haruka-san? Of you? Don’t even pull that on me. You know that I’m the type of girl who’ll come out and say something if I see it. But if I DID happen to be doing whatever it is you’re doing with Haruka-san, you can also believe that I wouldn’t be acting like it’s some deep dark secret. You deserve better than that. Hell, he deserves better than that.”

“You,” Michiru says, low and under her breath, “don’t know the first thing about it.” 

Elsa scoffs and grabs her cleaning rag. “Fine,” she says, “if you ever feel like saying anything, I’ll be finishing up right over here on the other side of the room. And if you’re looking for a conversation starter, a good one might be how exactly you got that mark on your neck.”

Michiru’s hand flies to a tender spot that’s been stinging all day. “On my…”

Elsa gives her a resigned stare before she departs. “Point proven, wouldn’t you say?”

* * *

 

It’s with the sense that the other shoe is about to drop that Michiru meets Haruka by the baseball field when they’re both done with chores.

What Elsa said has been ringing in her head, and it’s such a stark contrast to how happy Haruka looks to see her.

The truth is that Haruka _does_ deserve more than this, sneaking around behind the school and in lonely mansions, and it’s really not fair. Even if Haruka does like her (and even if Michiru does like Haruka, ridiculously, desperately), it’s just...so many layers of foolish to get too attached.

And she’ll be fine, she really will. She can keep Haruka’s secret with the best of them. They can be friends, if only behind closed doors. Out at school, in public, Michiru can do this. She can do her best to pretend that Haruka’s just another boy in school, albeit a beautiful, maddening, arrogant, unexpectedly sweet boy.

But behind closed doors…

After kicking off unnecessary layers, Michiru all but throws Haruka down on her bed and sucks hard at her neck. She’s being brutal, but judging from the way that Haruka moans, she doesn’t mind much.

“That’s for being ‘careful,’” she tells Haruka, sitting up and tossing her hair so the soft purple marks on her neck are clearly visible.

Haruka winces. “Sorry,” she says, although the almost reverent way she traces her thumb across the bruises tells a different story.

“Are you?” Michiru asks, biting her lip at the slight stinginess as Haruka touches the tender skin.

“Not as much as I should be,” Haruka admits, giving her a slightly chastened look.

Instead of continuing, Michiru instead leans down and kisses Haruka, reaching down to tug at her cock. Haruka gulps and Michiru grins. “And that’s for the library earlier today.”

Haruka’s eyelashes flutter as Michiru keeps palming her cock. “But I let you come.”

“In the _library_.”

“But..you were so…”

Michiru cuts her off with another deep, lingering kiss, nipping at Haruka’s lip as she pulls back just for good measure. “And I didn’t get to return the favor.” She trails her way down, pushes up Haruka’s shirt, trails her lips across Haruka’s abs.

Michiru lingers at Haruka’s belt buckle, weighing her options. Perhaps she could ride Haruka. Perhaps she could make Haruka eat her out.

Or...

Instead, she takes a third option.

It’s the kind of option that Haruka deserves.

She dips her head down and brushes her lips over the bulge in Haruka’s pants. In the light, and at the angle, her hardness is plainly evident, and it’s gorgeous. She’s not exactly sure how to go about this, but if there’s anything Kaioh Michiru knows, it’s how to fake it until she makes it, and with that, she unzips Haruka’s pants.

“What are you doing?” Haruka asks once her pants and boxer briefs are kicked off and it becomes clear that Michiru’s not coming back up anytime soon. Her voice is breathless, just the tiniest bit shrill, and Michiru’s fairly certain that she’ll never get tired of causing that tone in Haruka’s voice. She doesn’t break eye contact at all as she carefully wraps her hand around the base of Haruka’s cock, stroking it slowly. “I could stop if you want,” she says, brushing her lips across Haruka’s thigh, moving her mouth up, stopping just short, waiting for Haruka’s reaction.

Michiru can tell the exact moment when it hits Haruka. “You’re going to--!” Haruka blinks, shakes her head, almost like she’s trying to clear it, like the vision before her is too much to be true. When she realizes it is, she slumps back against the pillows weakly, staring, biting her lip.

“Can I?” Michiru asks, breath hot against the tip of Haruka’s cock. Haruka squirms like she can actually feel it, and for all Michiru knows, maybe she can, on some level.

“Yes,” Haruka croaks. “God. Yes, you can, you can--”

It’s all the confirmation Michiru needs. With that, she swirls her tongue around the tip of Haruka’s cock and takes the first few inches into her mouth.

Haruka makes a little keening noise and twitches, which is enough to make Michiru pause and pull off. Haruka’s already stammering out an apology but it doesn’t really matter, not really, and Michiru cuts her off. “Don’t move. You need to know that this is me doing this to you, not the other way around. Are we clear?”

Haruka nods too fast. “Of course,” she says hastily, “I’m sorry, just, could you just--”

Michiru takes Haruka in again, as deep as she can; she’s almost down to where her fist is clutching the base of Haruka’s cock. Her skills at this, it appears, leave a bit to be desired. She’s a tiny bit worried about how she’s going to manage it in her mouth.

Then again, Haruka, just judging by her reaction to what Michiru's been able to manage so far, certainly seems like she could excuse quite a bit if it involves having her cock in someone else’s mouth, or at least that’s what Michiru’s hoping.

Michiru regrets not wearing lipstick. She’s not entirely positive if Haruka is the type who’d like messing up girls’ lipstick, but Michiru knows that she herself is most certainly the type who’d love to see her makeup smeared all over Haruka’s cock. The thought sends a small shiver down her spine, and it’s a sudden notice of just how much sucking Haruka off is getting to her as well.

Feeling confident again, she tries taking Haruka just a bit further in, when her cock hits the back of Michiru’s throat with a sharp tickle.

She coughs involuntarily; she doesn’t know it’s coming, but the back of her throat is clenching and okay, that’s not going to work, fine, enough, but then two things happen at the sound: Haruka moans like she’s being tortured, eyes flashing, and a wave of arousal slams into Michiru, dizzyingly hot and urgent.

Well then.

Michiru pulls off and gazes at Haruka, still stroking her cock with the hand wrapped around the base. “Did you like that?” she asks. There’s a bit of thick spit lingering at the back of her throat. She swallows hard to get rid of it, then regrets wasting the extra lubrication.

Haruka bites her lip, obviously conflicted. “I don’t want to see you hurt,” she says finally.

Michiru laughs. “You do in certain ways, don’t deny it, Haruka. You want to watch me do this.” She takes a deep breath. “You want to watch me choke on how big you are.”

Haruka whimpers, a bright flush setting in across her cheekbones. “Michiru…”

Drawing on some reserve she didn’t even know she had, Michiru keeps going. “You want deep inside of me, don’t you? You want to come down my throat.”

Haruka’s actually getting a bit shaky now, the combination of Michiru’s words and the way she’s still stroking Haruka’s cock, and Michiru’s getting a touch worried that she’s going to talk Haruka off before she can even get her mouth back on her. She quickly remedies that situation by dipping her head down and taking as much of Haruka as she can fit in her mouth until it scrapes against the back of her throat, causing her to lurch forward.

The feeling sends a sharp, pulsing wave of arousal down to her cunt, and Michiru presses her thighs together in a way to try and relieve some of the pressure. She wants Haruka like this. She wants Haruka coming down her throat, she wants to choke and gag her way around Haruka’s cock because Haruka deserves it. Her mouth is watering and she’s sure that this is absolutely an amazing visual.

Michiru's jaw is starting to ache. There's a burning stiffness at the joint that's mounting rapidly into a sharp, piercing sting. It feels like it'll take great effort for her to close her mouth after this and she reaches up, tries to massage at the pain even as she bobs up and down on Haruka's cock. But it doesn't do much as she presses down-just amplifies the sting and forces the tears threatening in her eyes up to the surface.

Her jaw is killing her and her throat is getting raw and there's a monster crick in her neck and it's really pretty miserable, and she's so, so wet. Ridiculously wet, even, much more than she probably has any right to be  considering the situation. Her jaw hurts and Haruka's cock keeps scraping the tender skin at the back of her throat and everything feels raw, but then there's Haruka, reeling, making this little stuttery whine with every move Michiru makes, so obviously close to coming apart, already destroyed, utterly brought to her knees, just because of what Michiru's doing.

She doesn't stop, refuses to stop, presses her thighs together again to try and relieve the excruciating throbbing between her legs but it's not enough, not even close to enough, and she's not too far away from just rutting against Haruka's leg, this wild, crackling sensation sparking in the base of her throat and radiating out to make her whole body jittery.

Michiru's head is swimming and there's a fine humming in her ears and she isn't completely present anymore, not really.

Something inside of her is straining, almost broken, some crucial part, some sixth sense or something that keeps her tethered, keeps in her control, almost ready to snap.

She pulls off and nearly collapses at the ache of the absence of Haruka's cock heavy in her mouth. "Look at me," she gasps, a burning raspiness in her throat unlike anything she's ever quite experienced before, like her throat is rebelling against words, against breathing, anything Michiru wants it to do except forcing Haruka's cock further down.

Haruka's attention is back on her, just like she wanted, and her eyes go a bit wide just at the sight of Michiru. She knows she's an utter mess and doesn't particularly care, she just needs Haruka to see her. "You," she growls before Haruka can say anything, "had better look at me," and she's trying to relax her throat, she really is, but she sputters again before she can quite get Haruka all the way down.

And that's when she feels Haruka's hand at the back of her head.

The touch is light and she gets the sense that Haruka's skittish enough about this to move away at the slightest sign of displeasure, but god, this is hot, and oh, Michiru needs this.

She lifts her hand to Haruka's and sinks Haruka’s hand down into her hair. Haruka tugs experimentally at the roots before tightening her fingers in Michiru's hair and forcing her head down on her cock.

And that's it.

Haruka's cock slips wildly in her throat and no amount of preparation, of relaxation, can stop her from choking. Her stomach lurches and her eyes water and she can't hold back anymore, and as Haruka moves her down on her cock, gagging her with every thrust up, Michiru closes her eyes, shoves her free hand between her legs, and grinds herself hard against the heel of her palm.

She's touching herself and Haruka's whimpering and oh god, Haruka, all of this is for Haruka and she barely even knows Haruka, really, but look where they are. She’s had Haruka inside of her and now Haruka’s cock is down her throat and she’s already willing to do just about anything for the woman beneath her.

Little dots are flashing before her eyes and her thighs are sticky and she can barely breathe but it's okay. Everything's fuzzy and, the world's slowly zooming in to include nothing but her mouth and her throat and Haruka's cock and it's okay, almost hypnotic, to just let herself be used like this.

One second she's still at it and the next for some reason Haruka pulls out--her mouth feels so empty--and tugs Michiru up and on her back, and then Haruka's climbing on top of her and guiding her cock inside of her in one fluid shove.

On reflex, Michiru's body tries to cry out, but her throat is wrecked, all she can manage is a small gasp. It's a shock, but not at all a question of being ready. She can feel wetness trickling down her thighs; she's taking in Haruka easily, and her stomach twists yearningly at the thought.

Haruka's eyes are darker than Michiru has ever seen them as she begins thrusting, hard, forceful movements that shake Michiru's whole body. “Touch yourself,” Haruka commands. Haruka’s holding herself up so there’s not much in the way to block her, and Michiru can't fight. She's not able, can't even force a lucid thought to her brain, so it's almost a relief to be told what to do.

Her clit is swollen and throbbing and almost too wet, and the mere contact makes the walls of her cunt clench around Haruka's cock. She's going to get off from this, she realizes, and soon. She uses her spare hand to dig her nails into Haruka's back. "Please," she whispers. Haruka bites her lip and somehow manages to go even harder. Michiru's never been able to work up this much force on herself and she's going to be sore, but she doesn't care. "Move, Haruka," she manages.

Haruka forces out a brisk laugh. "When I first met you, I thought you were a good girl. The calm, collected ice princess everyone thinks you are. They're all wrong, aren't they?"

Michiru whimpers. "Yes," she says, barely audible, because Haruka’s right, Haruka probably doesn’t even know for sure just how right she is, and all of Michiru’s walls are starting to crumble and she’s never been so exposed.

Haruka can’t get close enough. She can’t move hard enough. Michiru’s face is damp and she realizes that somewhere her eyes finally spilled over. Haruka notices too, her brow furrowed, and looks like she’s about to ask, her thrusts slowing. “Michiru--”

“Don’t,” she gasps, “keep going.”

“Are you really sure you--”

Michiru can’t. She just can’t.

She grabs at Haruka’s shoulder, yanks at the hair at the nape of her neck, trying to do anything to snap Haruka out of it, because the last thing Michiru needs is to be taken care of right now. and her voice is quavering and resolute: “Don’t stop, don’t you _dare_ stop,” and by the time that Michiru finally comes she’s not thinking anything, not feeling anything but the explosion rocketing from the base of her spine and throughout her body and she sees stars.

She’s not sure how long she’s in this state of suspended motion. Dimly, she hears Haruka cry out, can feel her twitching above her as she comes, but her heart is pounding and her fingers are tingling and it's much too hard for Michiru to even get in a deep breath, much less focus on the sight.

And then Haruka’s rolling off of her. “Are you okay?” she asks, stroking the back of her hand across Michiru’s face. It’s such a tender gesture that it sends another crack through Michiru’s demeanor, and Haruka just looks so anxious. She looks like Michiru is something that’s actually worth protecting, and it’s too much.

She breaks.

“I,” Michiru starts, trying to force words out as she’s struggling for breath. And then in between one of the gasps is this wrenching _sob_ , that comes out like it’s being dragged right out from those parts of her that she could’ve sworn she’d permanently locked away years ago.

She feels like a petulant little girl. She _hates_ it when she gets this way, can't recall a time in her recent memory when she'd been at this point. She'd thought she was over this. Hell, at least for this point in her life, she'd thought she was over feelings in general.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she says, distinctly whiny, and she wants to beat the sound out of her voice but knows she can't and another agonizing sob bubbles up from her chest. She suppresses it the best she can, leaving a thick knot in her throat, but it's not enough to wipe the look of concern off of Haruka's stupid face.

"Wasn't supposed to be like what?" Haruka asks.

 _You_ weren't supposed to be like this, Michiru finishes in her head. Haruka wasn't supposed to be so damn good. She wasn't supposed to be able to cut right through all of Michiru's walls like they were absolutely nothing, almost like they were never there at all.

Michiru has never been who she needs to be around Haruka. Haruka's never seen it, never fallen for it.

And it doesn't matter who Haruka is or what they're doing. Michiru’s not strong enough to pretend that this is a game, or anything simple. She’s too far gone. She’s _fallen_.

Michiru is terrified.

“Michiru…” Haruka reaches up, brushes a few strands of hair back from her forehead. It’s taking everything Michiru has to not pull away from the touch, for Haruka’s own good, if nothing else.

Instead, she chokes out a bitter laugh. “Why do you feel so much like my boyfriend right now?”

Haruka’s response is quiet, but instantaneous: “I could be.”

And Michiru can’t deal with that at all. She hurts, and she’s still on the verge of tears, and she shouldn’t be having this, she shouldn’t have any of this, and she can feel herself shutting down, giving up, giving in. "Just stop talking and hold me,” she mumbles.

Haruka does.


End file.
